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KING  RENE'S  DAUGHTER 

A   DANISH  LYRICAL  DRAMA 

BY 

HENRIK    HERTZ 

TRANSLATED   BY 

THEODORE    MARTIN 


NEW    YORK 
LEYPOLDT    &     HOLT 

1867 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1866,  by 

LBYPOLDT    &    HOLT, 

in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States 
for  the  Southern  District  of  New  York. 


JOHN   F.  TROW  &   CO., 

PRltiTRRf!,  STEREOTYPERS,  £  ELECTROTYPERS, 
50    OREKNE    STREET,     IJ.Y. 


pr 


PUBLISHERS'    NOTICE. 

IT  is  surprising  that  the  American  press  has  issued 
so  small  a  number  of  the  foreign  poems  which  are  inti- 
mately known  throughout  Europe.  There  are  many 
which  have  gone  through  several  editions  in  each  one  of 
the  principal  European  languages,  English  included,  which 
have  not  been  printed  in  America  at  all.  The  little  poem 
herewith  presented  is  as  intimately  known  in  England  and 
Germany  as  almost  any  one  in  native  literature.  In  the 
United  States  the  only  issue  of  it  before  the  present, 
was  a  pamphlet  printed— probably  for  stage  uses— nearly 
twenty  years  ago. 

In  the  hope  of  adding  more  of  these  foreign  works  to 
the  American  stock  of  good  reading,  we  have  already 
begun  the  preparation  of  "  Frithiof  's  Saga,"  translated 
from  the  Swedish  of  Tegne"r  by  Blackley,  and  edited,  with 
a  copious  introduction  and  notes,  by  Bayard  Taylor; 
also  the  "  Nathan  the  Wise  "  of  Lessing,  with  an  introduc- 
tory essay  by  K.  Fischer— translated  from  the  German 
by  Miss  Ellen  Frothingham,  of  Boston. 

If  these  great  works  meet  with  a  favorable  reception, 

(iii) 

6137,^9 


iv  PUBLISHERS'    NOTICE. 

we  will  add  others  as  long  as  the  public  taste  shall  war- 
rant. Among  those  we  have  in  contemplation  are  Goethe's 
"  Hermann  and  Dorothea;"  Moliere's  "Tartuffe;"  Calde- 
ron's  "Life  is  a  Dream ;"  Tasso's  "  Aminta,"  translated  by 
Leigh  Hunt;  "The  Wooing  of  the  King's  Daughter," 
from  the  Norwegian  of  Munch  ;  "  Boris  Godounoff,"  from 
the  Russian  of  Pouschkine ;  "  Nala  and  Damajanti,"  trans- 
lated from  the  Sanscrit  by  Milman ;  and  a  translation  of 
Bodenstedt's  version  of  the  Turkish  songs  of  Mirza- 
Schaffy. 


INTRODUCTORY    SKETCHES. 


I.— THE    POET. 

HENRIK  HERTZ  was  born  at  Copenhagen,  on  the 
twenty-fifth  of  August,  1798.  His  parents  were  Jews. 
In  1817  he  entered  the  law  school  of  the  Copenhagen 
University.  While  studying  law  with  little  interest,  he 
was  enthusiastically  at  work  on  general  aesthetic  studies, 
and  especially  on  Persian  literature.  Though  Hertz 
cared  little  for  law,  his  works  bear  evidence  that  he 
probably  owes  much  to  it  The  accurate  framework 
of  his  writings,  the  just  balance  of  his  characters,  and 
the  ingenious  construction  of  his  scenes,  would  be  natu- 
ral to  the  very  highest  dramatic  genius,  but  could 
hardly  be  wrought  by  a  mind  such  as  that  of  Hertz, 
unless  its  discriminative  powers  had  received  special 
culture.  In  spite  of  his  attention  to  other  things,  he 
graduated  creditably  in  law  in  1825. 

In  1826  he  published,  anonymously,  his  first  work, 
Hcrr  Bughard  og  bans  Familie  " — a  comedy.  This  work 
bears  unmistakable  evidence  of  having  been  modelled  on 

(v) 


vi  INTRODUCTORY   SKETCHES. 

the  comedies  of  Holberg,  who,  a  century  before,  had  in- 
fused the  true  catholic  spirit  into  Danish  literature.  Hertz 
wrote  about  one  play  a  year,  publishing  anonymously, 
until  1830,  when  he  produced  a  queer  poetical  satire  called 
"Letters  of  a  Ghost"  (Gjcngangcr-breve).  It  had  the 
form  of  epistles  from  Paradise,  and  its  principal  objects 
of  attack  were  the  somewhat  diverse  ones  of  the  bad 
literary  taste  and  the  snobbishness  of  the  age.  He 
especially  assailed  a  school  that  he  considered  servile 
imitators  of  Oehlenschlager,  and  he  was  not  prophet 
enough  to  refrain  from  disturbing  Hans  Christian  An- 
dersen, who  was  then  just  rising  into  fame.  This  satire 
produced  a  furore  fit  to  be  compared  with  that  called 
forth  by  English  Bards  and  Scotch  Reviewers.  No 
literary  event  in  Denmark  had  produced  such  a  stir  since 
the  quarrel  between  Baggessen  and  Oehlenschlager,  about 
a  quarter  of  a  century  before.  In  the  same  year  with 
the  satire,  he  published  the  first  versified  comedy  in 
Danish  literature.  It  is  called  "  Cupid's  Master-Stroke  " 
(Amors  Geniestreger).  The  form  of  the  dialogue  is 
the  same  as  in  the  French  classical  drama.  It  was  an- 
other great  success.  Despite  all  this,  he  worked  on 
anonymously,  and  the  Danes  called  him  their  Great 
Unknown.  Not  till  1832  did  he  claim  the  laurels  which 
his  works  had  been  earning  for  him.  In  the  same  year 
he  embraced  Lutheranism. 

In  1833  he  was  admitted  to  the  "travelling  pension," 
with  which  the  Danish  Government  encourages  the  prom- 
ising young  men  of  the  nation.  During  that  year  and 


INTRODUCTORY  SKETCHES.  vft 

the  one  succeeding,  he  travelled  in  Germany,  France,  and 
Italy,  and  seems  to  have  done  nothing  in  literature  be- 
yond gathering  materials. 

The  next  one  of  his  works  deserving  special  notice  was 
"  Svend  Dyring's  House,"  a  tragedy  in  four  acts,  which 
appeared  in  1837.  This  play  excited  universal  praise, 
and  is  one  of  the  best  exponents  of  the  modern  Scandi- 
navian genius.  It  has  been  translated  at  least  twice  into 
German,  and  was  played  at  Berlin  in  1849.  "The  Plu- 
mage of  the  Swan"  (Svanehammen},  a  comedy  in  three 
acts  (1841),  also  deserves  to  be  considered  a  representa- 
tive play. 

In  1839  Hertz  published  a  novel  called  "  Charac- 
ters and  Circumstances "  (Stemninger  og  Tilstande) — an 
interesting  and  well-constructed  book,  but  the  course  of  the 
story  is  too  much  interrupted  by  political  disquisitions. 
These  are  of  such  a  character,  that,  on  the  work's  ap- 
pearance, they  called  down  upon  the  author  severe  attacks 
from  the  liberal  press.  Nevertheless,  the  book  went 
through  at  least  two  editions. 

KING  RENK'S  DAUGHTER  appeared  in  1845.  Al- 
though in  plot  and  structure  far  less  ambitious  than  many 
of  his  other  plays,  it  has  merits  that  have  seldom,  if 
ever,  been  elsewhere  combined  in  the  same  degree.  It 
took  its  place  in  literature  at  once.  It  has  been  trans- 
lated into  German  four  times — once  by  Breseman,  with 
the  assistance  of  the  author — and  four  times  into  English. 
It  has  been  represented  at  leading  theatres  in  Germany, 
Holland,  Sweden,  England,  and  the  United  States.  A 


Viii  INTRODUCTORY    SKETCHES. 

paraphrase  of  it,  by  Gustave  Lemoine,  has  been  played 
at  Paris. 

In  1848  Hertz  produced  Federigo,  an  opera  in  three 
acts,  the  music  by  H.  Rung.  In  1849,  his  comedy  of 
"A  Hundred  Years,"  written  after  the  manner  of  Aris- 
tophanes, failed  at  the  Royal  Theatre  in  Copenhagen 
through  bad  stage  management. 

In  1858  he  produced  a  romance,  which  we  allude  to 
because  its  name  was  "John  Johnson"  (Johannes  John- 
son). He  further  paid  his  respects  to  the  English  in  a 
one-act  interlude  called  "The  Penny  Show"  (Persfektev- 
kassen) — a  string  of  humorous  doggerel,  in  which  he  ca- 
ricatured the  English  court,  not  omitting  Sir  Robert  Peel, 
or  even  Queen  Victoria  herself.  The  latest  of  his  pro- 
ductions of  which  we  can  find  any  record,  is  "Adven- 
tures of  a  Fortune-Teller"  (4  vols.,  Copenhagen,  1862). 

His  works,  collected  in  fifteen  volumes  (1853-1865), 
comprise  over  forty  titles  in  nearly  all  departments  of 
imaginative  literature.  His  signal  successes  have  undoubt- 
edly been  his  dramas.  Although  the  one  that  gave  him 
widest  fame  was  neither  brilliant  comedy  nor  profound 
tragedy,  he  has  been  more  than  successful  in  both  ;  his 
novels  have  had  a  favorable  reception ;  and  his  lyric  and 
didactic  poems  are  permanently  fixed  in  the  literature  of 
his  native  land. 

In  1850  the  Danish  Government  spontaneously  ap- 
pointed him  to  a  literary  professorship,  with  a  comfortable 
pension,  which  he  still  enjoys.  The  fact  that  at  the  age  of 
sixty-four  he  published  a  four-volume  novel,  proves  that 


INTRODUCTORY  SKETCHES.  Lx 

his  declining  years  are  vigorous  and  useful,  and  so  gives 
the  best  reason  to  hope  that  they  are  happy. 


II.  — THE    POEM. 

The  principal  characters  in  KING  RENE'S  DAUGHTER 
are  historical,  and  the  political  complication  named  in  the 
play,  was  actually  resolved  in  the  manner  there  fore- 
shadowed. 

The  "  Good  King  Rene "  was  born  about  1400,  and 
in  his  childhood  was  betrothed  to  the  daughter  of 
that  same  Duke  of  Burgundy  who  was  assassinated  by 
the  Duke  of  Orleans  at  the  bridge  of  Montereau.  The 
engagement  was  broken,  and  Rene  married  Isabella  of 
Lorraine.  She  bore  him  six  children,  one  of  whom — 
Yolande — is  the  lolanthe  of  our  story.  He  was,  as  Hertz 
depicts  him,  a  brave,  generous,  pious,  and  cultivated  gen- 
tleman. Some  of  his  literary  works  still  exist,  and  we 
have  the  strong  impression  that  we  have  heard  of  songs 
which  are  attributed  to  him  being  still  sung  in  Provence. 

Despite  his  quiet  tastes,  he  had  a  turbulent  life 
fighting  the  counts  of  Vaudemont  for  the  succession  in 
Lorraine,  which  he  claimed  through  his  wife.  Once 
when  he  was  a  prisoner  on  parole,  he  offered  to 
settle  the  dispute  in  the  manner  told  in  the  play. 
The  offer  was  accepted,  and,  after  some  delay,  the 
arrangement  was  consummated.  Not  very  long  after, 
Rone's  queen  died.  He  loved  her  with  his  whole  chival- 


x  INTRODUCTORY  SKETCHES. 

rous  soul,  and  her  loss  left  him  broken-hearted.  Re- 
signing the  kingdom  to  his  heir,  he  spent  the  rest  of 
his  life  alternately  with  Margaret  and  Yolande,  whose 
children  were  the  blessing  of  his  old  age. 

We  can  find  no  historical  evidence  that  Yolande  was 
blind.  In  making  lolanthe  so,  however,  Hertz,  by  treat- 
ing it  as  a  state  secret,  has  ingeniously  obviated  any  vio- 
lent contradiction  of  history. 

On  beginning  these  little  sketches,  we  had  no  idea  of 
attempting  anything  like  criticism  of  the  poem.  But  the 
critical  reading  we  have  since  given  it,  has  disclosed  one 
or  two  beauties  of  construction  not  apt  to  strike  one  on  a 
casual  perusal.  Perhaps  we  may  indicate  them  without 
appearing  to  insult  tha  acumen  of  our  readers,  or  incur- 
ring the  danger  of  lessening  their  pleasure,  as  one  would 
be  apt  to  in  challenging  attention  to  a  perfectly  obvious 
merit.  But  if  there  be  any  one  disposed  to  follow  us 
through  a  few  words  of  criticism,  we  are  more  than  half 
inclined  to  beg  him  to  read  the  poem  first,  and  then,  if  he 
will,  return  to  our  comments.  To  us  the  poem  seems  full 
of  that  perfect  art  which  conceals  art ;  and  we  do  not 
wish  to  spoil  the  poet's  success  in  covering  over  his  frame- 
work, by  pointing  out  beforehand  places  where  our  search 
has  shown  us  something  admirable  in  its  structure. 

Most  readers  who  have  been  through  the  poem  will 
probably  be  pleasantly  surprised  to  reflect  that  it  is  all 
contained  in  a  single  act,  and  in  a  single  stage-scene.  Al- 
though informed  of  the  fact  at  the  outset,  we  confess  to 
have  lost  sight  of  it  entirely. 


INTRODUCTORY  SKETCHES.  xi 

The  perfectly  peaceful,  lovely  character  of  the  poem 
is  maintained  throughout  with  great  art.  Through  such 
a  complication  of  circumstances,  lolanthe's  blindness  is 
never  made  to  shock  the  reader.  Nine  artists  out 
of  ten  would  have  made  her  discovery  of  it  a  painful 
and  agonizing  scene.  Hertz  has  not  only  provided  the 
reader  with  an  under-thought  of  satisfaction  at  her  learning 
it,  but  has  made  the  manner  of  her  doing  so  inexpressibly 
lovely. 

The  whole  piece  is  made  to  bear  the  beautifully  unreal 
air  of  romance,  by  the  ingenious  interfusion  of  little  bits  of 
superstition,  which,  though  entirely  natural  to  the  age, 
would  have  had  an  air  of  grossness  in  the  hands  of  a 
clumsy  artist. 

The  confidence  with  which  lolanthe  welcomes  Geoffrey 
and  Tristan,  indicates  the  master.  At  first  it  appears 

unnatural.     But  she  did  not  know  what  unkindness  was, 

» 
and  therefore  did  not  fear  it. 

Geoffrey  praises  the  wine.  Tristan  is  so  absorbed  in 
lolanthe  that  he  does  not  notice  it. 

To  the  modern  sense,  Geoffrey's  volunteering  of  the 
song,  at  first  looks  like  a  coarse  stage-trick.  On  second 
thought,  though,  it  must  appear  entirely  in  keeping  with 
the  spirit  of  an  age  when  every  gentleman  carried  his 
cithern,  and  the  whole  neighboring  country  felt  the  in- 
fluence of  the  Troubadour  King.  The  older  knight's 
desire  to  show  off  his  pupil,  after  he  himself  had  finished, 
is  a  good  stroke.  lolanthe's  simple  "  Give  me  the  cith- 
ern," is  a  better  one. 


xii  INTRODUCTORY   SKETCHES. 

The  character  of  the  three  songs  is  really  worthy  of 
notice.  Geoffrey's  mainly  enunciates  general  principles, 
suggested  by  the  occasion.  It  is  natural  for  the  elderly 
man  to  think  in  that  way,  and,  moreover,  it  is  befitting 
the  skill  of  the  more  accomplished  poet  Tristan's  song 
is  simply  a  narrative  of  what,  at  the  moment,  has  entire 
possession  of  his  soul.  Such  a  song,  too,  is  within  the 
range  of  the  poetical  novice.  lolanthe's  song  is  a  natural 
combination  of  the  peculiarities  of  the  other  two.  She  is 
young  enough  to  habitually  think  in  particulars,  and  she 
is  not,  like  Tristan,  so  wholly  absorbed  in  any  one  imme- 
diate object  as  to  prevent  her  thinking  her  habitual 
thoughts.  Her  experience  is  not,  like  Geoffrey's,  old 
enough  to  be  digested  into  intellectual  generalities,  but 
she  draws  upon  it  for  special  feelings. 

And  now  we  are  able  both  practically  to  evince  our 
regret  at  the  growing  disuse  of  a  good  old-fashioned  habit, 
and  to  indulge  our  own  hearty  impulse,  by  wishing  the 
reader  much  pleasure  from  the  perusal  of  the  poem  itself. 
If,  by  taking  our  advice  and  reading  the  poem  before  pro- 
ceeding this  far  in  our  introduction,  he  has  made  our  good 
wishes  seem  tardy,  we  do  not  know  that  we  can  do  better 
than  to  establish  their  propriety  by  advising  him  to  read 
it  again. 


DRAMATIS    PERSONS. 


KING  RENE  of  Provence. 
IOLANTHE,  his  Daughter. 
COUNT  TRISTAN  of  Vaude- 

mont. 
SIR  GEOFFREY  of  Orange. 


SIR  ALMERIK. 

EBN  JAHIA,   a    Moorish 

Physician. 
BERTRAND. 
Martha,  his  Wife. 


(The  scene  lies  in  Provence,  in  a  valley  of  Vaucluse,  and 
lasts  from  midday  to  sunset  Time — The  middle  of  the 
fifteenth  century.) 


To  the  left  (of  the  actor)  stands  a  house  of  one 
story,  covered  with  ivy  and  roses,  —  its  windows 
shaded  by  verandahs.  A  garden  rims  backwards 
from  the  house,  in  which  the  vegetation  displays  a 
tropical  luxuriance.  Some  date-palms  in  the  fore- 
ground. At  the  end  of  the  garden  is  seen  a  wall  of 
rock,  overgrown  with  brushwood,  and  in  it  a  door  so 
covered  with  moss  and  stones,  that  it  is  only  percep- 
tible when  open.  Behind  this  wall  lofty  mountains 
stretch  into  the  distance. 


KING    RENE'S    DAUGHTER. 


FIRST    SCENE. 

BERTRAND.    Immediately  afterwards,  SIR  ALMERIK. 
Then  MARTHA. 

BERTRAND  (entering  from  the  house}. 
IT  was  the  bell !     Some  message  from  the  king  ! 

(Crosses  the  stage  to  the  rock,  and  opens  the 

concealed  door.    Returns  immediately  with 

Sir  Aimer ik,  but  keeps  him  standing  at  the 

entrance.) 

Sir  Almerik  !    You  here  !     Stand  back  !     Nay,  not  a 

step  ! 
No  stranger  enters  here. 

ALMERIK. 

I  must  and  will ! 


4  KING  REN&S  DAUGHTER. 

BERTRAND. 

No,  not  a  foot,  by  heav'ns  !    You  have  deceived  me. 
Hearing  the  bell,  and  with  it,  too,  the  sign, 
I  felt  assured  that  it  must  be  Raoul. 

ALMERIK. 

The  king  has  sent  me  hither  in  his  stead. 
See  here  this  letter,  and  his  royal  ring. 

BERTRAND. 

His  ring  ?    'Tis  so.     A  letter  !     By  your  leave  ? 
(Reads.)    "  Frankly  confide  in  Almerik,  and  give  him 
Whatever  information  he  desires." 
— This  changes  matters  quite.     Frown  not,  my  lord  ; 
For  if  you  know  the  secret  of  this  place, 
Then  you  must  know  that  prudence  is  my  duty. 

ALMERIK  (advancing   'with  Bertrand  to  the 

front  of  the  stage). 

I  know  the  place's  secret  ?    Save  the  mark  ! 
I  find  myself  here  to  my  own  surprise, 
And  all  I  see  augments  my  wonderment. 
A  very  paradise  amid  the  waste  ! 
Read  me  the  mystery. 


KING  REN&S  DAUGHTER.  5 

BERTRAND. 

How  !  from  the  king 
DM  you  not  learn  it  ? 

ALMERIK. 
Nay,  not  I ! 

BERTRAND. 

So,  so ! 

If  he  was  silent,  I  must  needs  be  dumb. 

ALMERIK. 
Nay,  nay,  you  jest ! 

BERTRAND. 
I  never  jested  less. 

MARTHA  (appearing  at  the  door  of  the  house}. 
Sir  Almerik  ? 

BERTRAND. 

He  brings  King  Rent's  ring, 
And  knows  the  sign  to  gain  admittance  here. 
But  nothing  more.  He  must  at  once  begone. 

ALMERIK. 
Begone,  when  the  king  sends  me  ? 

BERTRAND. 

Ay,  although  he  did. 


6  KING  REN&S  DAUGHTER. 

MARTHA. 

Stay,  Bertrand,  stay  !    (To  ALMERIK.)    What  is  your 
message,  sir  ? 

ALMERIK. 

I  was  to  say,  that  in  an  hour  the  king 
Would  come  with  his  physician,  Ebn  Jahia. 

MARTHA. 
The  very  famous  Moor,  I  know  him  well 

ALMERIK. 

Comes  with  the  king,  and  you  were  to  make  sure — 
These  were  his  words — that  all  things  were  prepared 
As  the  leech  ordered  you. 

BERTRAND. 

'Tis  well— 'tis  well ! 

The  king  may  trust  to  us.     Some  hours  ago 
Was  Ebn  Jahia  here. 

MARTHA. 

And  yet,  Sir,  Knight, 
His  Majesty  imparted  nothing  more  ? 

ALMERIK. 

He  was  in  haste,  and  full,  meseem'd,  of  thought 
The  moor — this  Ebn  Jahia — had  arrived, 


KING  REN&S  DAUGHTER.  ^ 

Raoul  was  ill,  and  secretly  the  king 
Call'd  me  aside.     "  I  can  depend  on  you," 
He  said,  "  and  in  your  secrecy  confide  ! 
Follow  the  messenger,  who  will  conduct  you, 
And  then  fulfil  your  charge." 

MARTHA. 

And  this  was  all 

Was  told  you  by  the  king  ? 

ALMERIK. 

Not  all ;  and  yet, 

What  more  he  spake  was  wrapp'd  in  mystery. 
He  mused  awhile,  then,  hesitating,  said  : 
"  Look  you  !  I  count  on  your  fidelity  ; 
You'll  find  my  daughter,  where  you  are  to  go." 
Then  all  at  once  he  suddenly  broke  off, 
Penn'd  in  keen  haste  the  letter  which  I  brought, 

And  bade  me  go. 

MARTHA. 

The  letter  ? 

BERTRAND. 

Ah,  yes!  The  letter! 

MARTHA  (takes  and  reads  the  letter). 
'Tis  the  king's  hand.     How  can  you  doubt  his  tale  ? 


8  KIJVG  KENT'S  DAUGHTER. 

BERTRAND. 
No,  you  are  right ;  I  had  forgot  the  letter. 

ALMERIK. 

Then  from  the  letter  you  may  gather  how 
The  king  desires  that  from  your  lips  I  learn 
What  things  soe'er  'tis  needful  I  should  know. 
Who  is  this  daughter  that  he  told  me  of? 
Margaret  is  now  in  Britain,  and  lolanthe 

MARTHA. 
Is  here. 

ALMERIK. 

Here  ?     lolanthe  is  in  Spain, 
Rear'd  in  a  convent  since  her  infancy. 

MARTHA. 
Not  so,  Sir  Knight ;  she's  here,  and  has  been  ever. 

ALMERIK. 
How  ?    Here  !     I  prithee,  Bertrand,  tell  me  all  ! 

BERTRAND. 

You  oft,  no  doubt,  have  heard  of  the  dispute 
About  Lorraine,  that  raged  so  long  between 
Our  king  and  Vaudemont. 


KING  RENfrS  DAUGHTER. 

ALMERIK. 

I  know  it  well. 

Yet  is  that  ancient  quarrel  now  forgot. 
The  terms  of  peace,  by  Burgundy  arranged, 
Secure — as  rumor  gives  the  story  out — 
King  Rent's  daughter's  hand  in  marriage  to 
The  son  of  Count  Antonio  Vaudemont. 
This  daughter,  I  olanthe,  was  a  child 
When  this  alliance  was  determined  on. 

BERTRAND. 

'Twas  even  as  you  say  ;  but,  good  Sir  Knight, 
The  compact  scarce  was  settled,  when,  by  fire, 
The  palace  was  consumed  at  dead  of  night, 
And  lolanthe — then  a  one  year's  babe —  • 
Had  all  but  perish'd  in  the  flames.    To  save 
Her  life,  one  course,  and  one  alone,  was  left : 
We  from  the  chamber  window  let  her  down, 
And  caught  her  safe  on  cushions  as  she  fell. 
Yet,  or  through  fear  or  injury  from  the  fall, 
Suffice  to  say,  the  child  had  lost  her  sight. 

ALMERIK. 
Had  lost  her  sight  ? 


• 
10  KING  RENT'S  DAUGHTER. 

MARTHA. 

Ay,  even  so,  my  lord. 
Imagine  our  distress— her  sire's  despair. 
Alas  !  a  child  so  gentle  and  so  sweet, 
And  of  her  sight  bereft— how  sad  !  how  hard  ! 
The  hope,  that  with  her  life  was  intertwined, 
Extinguished,  and  the  old  and  bitter  feud 
About  Lorraine  renewed— ay,  and  renewed 
Too  sure,  alas  !  more  fiercely  than  of  old. 
For  the  Count  Vaudemont  will  never  brook 
His  son  should  have  a  blind  girl  for  his  mate. 
He  will  believe,  and  hence  his  wrath  will  fire, 
A  cheat  was  practised  on  him,  and  that  she 
Was  blind  before  the  truce  was  ratified. 

ALMERIK. 

Surmise  to  him  most  probable.     But  the  king. 
What  did  he  in  this  strait  ? 

BERTRAND. 

At  first  he  veiled 

In  studious  silence  that  the  child  was  blind, 
Which  none  had  e'er  discovered  from  her  looks  ; 
But  soon  from  Cordova  he  summoned  hither 
The  very  famed  physician,  Ebn  Jahia, 


KING  RENE  S  DAUGHTER.  II 

Whose  skill  is  counted  nigh  miraculous, 
Who  came  and  tried  all  sorts  of  remedies. 
With  sagest  counsel,  too,  he  showed  us  how 
To  rear  her  up  in  tender  fosterage  ; 
And,  last  of  all,  he  in  the  stars  perused 
Her  horoscope. 

ALMERIK. 

And  there  ? 

MARTHA. 

Found  hope  for  us, 
That  lolanthe  should  regain  her  sight 
When  in  her  sixteenth  year.     That  time  is  come, 
And  Ebn  Jahia  now  is  with  the  king. 
He  orders  remedies,  which  we  apply, 
Yet  what  their  purpose  I  have  never  known  ; 
The  hour,  he  says,  hath  even  now  arrived. 
Heaven  grant  it  may  be  so  ! 

ALMERIK. 

But  lolanthe  ! 
How  heavily  her  fate  must  weigh  her  down  ! 

MARTHA. 
She  has  no  thought  herself  that  she  is  blind. 


12  KING  RENT'S  DAUGHTER. 

ALMERIK. 
No  thought  that  she  is  blind  !     You  surely  jest ! 

MARTHA. 

Ah,  no,  Sir  Knight !  you  very  soon  may  learn 
That  all  which  I  have  told  you  now  is  true. 
But  let  me  earnestly  beseech  you,  sir, 
When  you  converse  with  lolanthe,  still 
To  guard  your  lips  with  most  religious  care, 
That  so  no  syllable  shall  cross  their  bounds, 
Which  to  the  eye  bears  slightest  reference. 
This  is  the  strict  injunction  laid  on  all 
Who  come  within  these  precincts.     Nothing  name 
Which  through  the  power  of  vision  must  be  known  ; 
Speak  not  before  her  of  the  light  of  day, 
Nor  of  the  moonbeams  in  the  placid  night, 
Nor  of  its  thousand  stars.     Alas  !  no  stars 
Illume  the  lasting  night  wherein  she  dwells  ! 

ALMERIK. 

And  have  you  kept  subservience  to  this  rule  ? 

• 

BERTRAND. 

We  school'd  ourselves  from  her  most  tender  years, 
When  there  was  little  danger  had  we  failed. 


KING  RENE'S  DAUGHTER.  13 

ALMERIK. 

With  what  intent  has  it  been  hid  from  her 
That  she  is  blind  ?    Who  will'd  it  should  be  so  ? 

MARTHA. 

We  know  not  whether  'twas  the  king's  resolve, 
Or  whether  Ebn  Jahia  so  advised  ; 
Yet  I  can  easily  explain  the  cause. 
A  coronet  shall  one  day  deck  her  brow, 
As  you  are  'ware  ;  so  does  her  future  hold 
A  brilliant  promise  forth,  should  all  go  well. 
But  it  is  feared  the  consciousness  of  blindness 
Might  settle  deep  into  her  tender  soul, 
Untune  her  spirit,  and  from  her  senses  take 
Their  equipoise,  and  that  clear  cheerfulness, 
Which  are  a  throne's  most  beauteous  ornaments. 
This  consciousness  'tis  purposed  to  avert. 

ALMERIK. 

This  is  the  reason,  then,  why  she  lives  here, 
Secluded  from  the  world  and  all  who  might 
Betray  to  her  the  secret  of  her  loss  ? 

BERTRAND. 

'Tis  even  so.     This  valley,  lock'd  within 
The  heart  of  yonder  mountains  of  Vaucluse, 


14  KINO  RENT'S  DAUGHTER. 

Is  from  the  eye  of  all  intruders  safe. 

You  know,  it  is  King  Rent's  chief  delight 

To  tend  and  cultivate  his  plants  and  flowers. 

Thus  all  you  see  was  by  himself  arranged, 

And  with  the  trees  and  shrubs  his  daughter  grew. 

Here  knows  she  every  spot, — unerringly 

Can  find  her  way  about  without  a  guide. 

Nor  has  her  education  been  o'erlook'd  : 

She  weaves,  spins,  tends  her  garden-plots,  and  is 

Forever  occupied,  and  ever  cheerful. 

Songs  makes  she  too,  and  sings  at  leisure  hours. 

ALMERIK. 
Makes  songs  ! 

BERTRAND. 

Ay,  she  makes  songs.    The  king  himself 
Taught  her  the  cunning  of  the  troubadours  ; 
And  ne'er  a  master  of  them  all  need  blush 
To  own  the  verses  which  her  fancy  weaves. 

ALMERIK. 

All  this  I  can  explain  and  understand  ; 
Yet  how  she  ne'er  suspects  her  blindness,  I 
Can  scarce  conceive.     No — this  must  be  delusion  ! 


KING  RENE'S  DAUGHTER.  15 

MARTHA. 

Such  it  appears  to  you,  whose  eyesight  serves 
As  a  sure  guide  to  every  step  you  take. 
Involuntarily  you  turn  your  gaze 
Towards  every  sound  that  stirs.     Even  in  the  dark, 
The  accustomed  light  with  fancied  gleam  deceives  you ; 
But  he,  who  from  his  earliest  infancy, 
From  birth,  mayhap,  hath  lack'd  the  power  of  sight, 
How  shall  he  deem  his  fellow-creatures  see  ? 
What's  sight  to  him  ?    What  can  he  comprehend 
Of  all  that  wondrous  power  that's  in  the  eye  ? 
Yet,  as  with  ease  we  master  by  its  aid 
All  that  surrounds  us,  so  the  blind  do  hold 
Hearing,  touch,  feeling,  the  air's  soft  impress, 
And  other  means  innumerable,  at  command, 
Which  are  to  us  incomprehensible. 
— This  shall  yourself  observe,  as  I  have  said, 
Before  you  have  been  long  with  lolanthe. 

ALMERIK. 

Now,  by  the  mass,  I  long  to  see  this  wonder  ! 
— Yet  one  thing  more,  that  puzzles  me,  explain  : 
She  lives  alone  with  you,  apart  from  all ; 
Is  this  secluded  valley  all  her  world  ? 


j5  KING  REN&S  DAUGHTER. 

BERTRAND. 

You  err,  to  think  that  lolanthe  is 
So  lonely,  so  forlorn.     Behind  these  mountains 
Lies,  as  you  know,  the  convent  of  St.  Clara  ; 
And  oftentimes  the  abbess  and  the  nuns 
Come  here  to  visit  her  ;  her  father,  too, 
Brings  with  him  stranger-guests  from  time  to  time. 

ALMERIK. 

And  so  she  lacks  for  nought,  and  is  content 
If  but  some  stranger  on  occasion  come  ? 
Of  all  the  wealth  the  world  to  us  presents, 
Of  all  its  glories,  she  surmiseth  nought  ? 
Does  she  not  question  you  ? 

MARTHA. 

That  is  a  point 

On  which  'tis  not  so  easy  to  reply. 
It  may  be  she  suppresses  many  a  thought. 
She  knows  there  is  an  entrance  to  this  vale, 
Hears  the  bell  sound  when  any  one  arrives, 
Brightens  to  hear  it,  and  in  silence  waits, 
With  ear  intent.     Yet  doth  she  never  ask 
Where  is  the  entrance,  whitherward  it  leads  ; 


KING  KEN£'S  DAUGHTER.  17 

For  she  has  heard  that  there  are  many  things 
She  must  not  ask,  but  leave  to  years  to  teach. 

So  'tis  with  children.     Speak  to  them  of  God, 
Of  power  omnipotent,  of  another  life, 
And  mark  how  they  will  listen,  opening  wide 
Their  little  eyes  in  wonder,  as  some  doubt — 
A  passing  shade — is  painted  on  their  looks  ; 
And  then,  at  last,  with  touching  faith,  accept 
For  truth  the  things  they  may  not  comprehend. 
So  now  for  lolanthe  the  whole  world 
Is  one  vast  mystery,  which  she  oft  would  pierce. 
Then  will  her  father  or  the  abbess  say  : 
"  Rest  thee  content,  my  child — thou  art  too  young  ; 
Some  future  time  thou'lt  comprehend  it  all." 
In  this  she  piously  confides  ;  nor  dreams 
She  wants  the  eyes'  clear  sight,  to  compass  all 
The  splendors  of  this  goodly  universe. 
— May  it  not  be,  sir,  while  we  darkly  muse 
Upon  our  life's  mysterious  destinies, 
That  we  in  blindness  walk,  like  lolanthe, 
Unconscious  that  true  vision  is  not  ours  ? 
Yet  is  that  faith  our  hope's  abiding  star. 


1 8  KING  KENT'S  DAUGHTER. 

Al.MERIK. 

In  this,  good  Martha,  hast  thou  truly  spoken. 
But  tell  me,  where  is  lolanthe  now  ? 

BERTRAND. 
She  sleeps. 

ALMERIK. 
How  !  Sleeps  !  And  now  ? 

BERTRAND. 

For  just  one  hour, 

By  the  physician's  order,  every  day. 
Yet  'tis  no  soft  and  natural  sleep  ;  indeed, 
I'm  puzzled  sorely  what  to  think  of  it. 
By  strange  and  uncouth  words,  and  singular  signs, 
Does  Ebn  Jahia  charm  her  to  repose  ; 
Then  doth  he  place  upon  her  breast  a  stone, 
A  talisman  or  amulet,  belike, 
And  only,  when  he  has  removed  the  gem, 
Does  she  awake  again.     I  will  confess, 
This  troubles  me. 


ALMERIK. 
Yet  may  we  strongly  trust 


In  Ebn  Jahia's  skill. 


KING  RENE'S  DAUGHTER.  T 

BERTRAND. 
There  lies  my  hope. 

(The  bell  rings.) 

MARTHA. 
Bertrand,  the  bell ! 

BERTRAND. 

Nay,  then,  it  is  the  king. 
(Exit  through  the  concealed  door.) 

ALMERIK. 
Comes  the  king  often  hither  ? 

MARTHA. 

Yes,  when  he 

Has  fixed  his  quarters  at  the  neighboring  palace, 
We  see  him  frequently.     At  times,  however, 
Whole  months  will  pass  without  his  coming  here. 

ALMERIK. 
Knows  lolanthe,  then,  it  is  the  king  ? 

MARTHA. 

No,  she  doth  not,  and  that  is  well  remembered. 
She  has  no  thought  of  that.     She  calls  him  father, 
We  others  call  him  Raymbaud — such  the  name 
Of  one  that  was  a  famous  troubadour. 


2Q  KING  RENE'S  DAUGHTER. 

ALMERIK. 
Break  off !     The  king  ! 


SECOND    SCENE. 

KING    RENK,    EBN   JAHIA,    and   BERTRAND   enter 
through  the  concealed  door.    ALMERIK,  MARTHA. 

RENE. 

Martha,  I  bring  thee  here 
Good  Ebn  Jahia.     As  I  learn,  he  hath 
Been  here  to-day  already  once  before.' 
How  goes  it  now  ? 

MARTHA. 
Even  to  a  wish,  my  liege. 

RENK. 

All  that  the  leech  enjoined  thou  hast  fulfilled  ? 
Neglected  nothing  ?    Has  lolanthe  lain 
With  eyes  close  bandaged  every  night  ? 

MARTHA. 

She  has. 


KING  REXg'S  DAUGHTER.  21 

V 

RENE  (to  EBN  JAHIA). 
That  was  a  perilous  venture.     It  is  strange 
She  bears  it.     Yet  the  chance  was  fortunate 
That  the  bee  stung  her  on  the  temple  lately  ; 
This  served  us  for  a  plausible  pretext. 
Ah  !  sure  the  little  bee  deceived  itself. 
In  this  fair  world,  that's  tended  by  her  care, 
Where,  like  a  flower,  she  grows  amidst  her  flowers, 
The  insect,  dazzled  by  the  flagrant  bloom, 
Deemed  that  it  nestled  in  a  rose's  bud. 
Forgive  me  !     It  is  sinful  thus  to  speak 
Of  mine  own  child.     But  now  no  more  of  this. 
Thou  long'st  to  see  the  fruitage  of  thy  skill. 
Go,  then,  to  lolanthe.     Bertrand  !     Martha  ! 
Follow  him  in  ;  perchance  he  may  require  you. 

(Eux  JAHIA  exit  into  the  house,  followed  by 

BERTRAND  and  MARTHA.) 
Now,  Almerik,  tell  me,  wert  thou  not  amazed, 
To  see  this  valley,  so  serene  and  still  ?  . 

Was  it  not  so — a  little  paradise  ? 

ALMERIK. 
Indeed  it  is  ! 

RENK. 
Oh,  had  it  been  my  fate, 


22  KING  KENT'S  DAUGHTER. 

Here,  in  the  midst  of  all  that  most  I  love, 
Of  beauty,  science,  art,  to  spend  my  days, 
How  gladly,  then,  had  I  foregone,  forever, 
Naples,  Lorraine,  and  this  long,  bitter  strife 
With  Vaudemont ! 

ALMERIK. 

This  strife  is  now  heal'd  up, 
And  you  expect  Count  Tristan  here  ere  long. 
Then  all  shall  end  in  peace. 

RENE. 

I  hope  it  may  ! 

And  this  my  hope  has  daily  gained  in  strength. 
I  told  you— did  I  not  ?— that  I  expected 
Geoffrey  of  Orange.     He  resided  long 
At  Tristan's  castle.     The  Count's  teacher  he 
In  minstrelsy,  and  poetry  and  song. 
The  youthful  Count,  so  Geoffrey  tells  me,  owns 
A  happy  turn  for  poesy — a  sense 
Refined  and  gentle,  with  a  mind  of  rare 
Endowment  and  capacity  of  thought. 
He  sang  to  me  a  Sirventese,  writ 
By  Tristan,  nobly  felt,  and  couch'd  in  words 
Of  a  rare  beauty.     This  I  needs  must  own, 


KING  RENE'S  DAUGHTER.  2 

Though  he  be  minded  hpstilely  to  me, 

And  would  with  grasping  hand  usurp  Lorraine. 

— But  hush  !     I  hear  a  voice. 

(Goes  to  the  house  and  looks  in  at  the  door.) 

See,  Ebn  Jahia 

Has  waken'd  her  !     Slowly  her  eyes  she  raises  ; 
She  speaks — yet  speaks  as  in  a  dream,  while  he 
Looks  down  observantly  into  her  eyes. 
Now  doth  he  lay  the  amulet  once  more 
Upon  her  bosom — and  she  sleeps  again. 

ALMERIK. 
How  singular ! 


Most  singular  !     This  Moor 
Possesses  powers  that  fill  me  with  alarm. 
He  comes.    Now  leave  us,  Almerik.    Yet  stay  ! 
Hence  to  the  palace.     Here  I  must  remain. 
Soon  as  a  letter  comes  from  Tristan,  haste 
And  bring  it  here  to  me. 

ALMERIK. 

Adieu,  my  liege. 
(Exit,  as  EBN  JAHIA  enters  from  the  house.) 


24  KINO  RENT'S  DAUGHTER. 

REN£. 

My  Ebn  Jahia,  com'st  thou  like  the  dove 

That  bears  the  olive-branch  ?    Thou  lookest  grave, 

And,  as  thine  art,  unfathomable  all. 

How  shall  I  construe  what  thy  looks  import  ? 

EBN  JAHIA. 
I  have  the  strongest  hopes,  my  noble  liege. 

RENE; 

Is't  so  ?    Oh,  thou'rt  an  angel  sent  from  heaven  ! 
Thy  dusky  visage,  like  that  royal  Moor's 
Who  knelt  beside  our  great  Redeemer's  cradle, 
Heralds  the  star,  shall  cheer  my  night  of  gloom. 
Say,  Jahia,  say,  whereon  thy  hope  is  based  ? 
What  is  thy  counsel,  what  thy  purpose  ?     Speak  ! 
'Tis  written  in  a  book,  which  late  I  read, 
That  oftentimes  an  unsound  eye  is  cured 
By  application  of  the  surgeon's  knife. 
This  thou  wilt  never  try,  my  Ebn  Jahia  ; 
Thou  know'st  the  eye  is  a  most  noble  part, 
And  canst  not  gain  such  mastery  o'er  thyself 
As  to  approach  my  lolanthe's  eyes 
With  instrument  of  steel.     Nay,  thou  must  dread 
To  mar  the  beauty  of  their  azure  depths, 


KING  RENT'S  DAUGHTER.  2c 

That  dark,  deep  fount,  which  still,  though  sadden'd  o'er, 
Wells  forth  such  glorious  radiance.     Oh  !  her  eyes, 
How  is  it  possible  that  night  should  brood 
On  two  fair  orbs  of  such  transcendent  sheen  ? 

EBN  JAHIA. 

Nay,  be  at  ease  !    You  need  not  fear  for  this. 
'Twould  aid  us  little,  should  I  have  recourse 
To  instruments. 

RENE. 

What  is  thy  purpose,  then  ? 

EBN  JAHIA. 

Your  pardon,  good  my  lord  !     My  treatment  is 
A  mystery,  like  all  my  leech's  craft ; 
It  scarce  would  serve  my  purpose  to  divulge  it. 
'Tis  not  the  fruitage  of  a  moment's  growth  ; 
No,  but  the  slow  result  of  wakeful  years, 
Shaped— step  by  step  conducted  to  one  point, 
Whereat,  so  speed  it  Heaven !  it  shall  succeed  ; 
Ay,  and  succeed  it  must,  this  very  day, 
Or  fail  forever. 


RENE. 
How  !     This  very  day  ? 


3 


26  A'/A'G  RENT'S  DAUGHTER. 

EBN  JAHIA. 

Soon  as  the  sun  lias  sunk  beneath  the  hills, 
And  a  soft  twilight  spreads  along  the  vale, 
Such  as  her  eyes,  still  to  the  light  unused, 
May  bear  with  safety,  I  will  test  my  plan. 

RENE. 

Ah,  Ebn  Jahia,  prithee,  not  to-day  ! 
From  day  to  day,  from  hour  to  hour,  have  I, 
With  restless  eagerness,  look'd  onwards  for 
This  moment ;  and  alas  !  now  it  hath  come. 
My  heart  grows  faint,  and  wishes  it  away. 
— Think  what  I  peril !     When  the  sun  goes  down, 
My  fairest  hope,  perchance,  goes  down  with  it. 
Thou'rt  wrapt  in  thought.    Art  thou  content  to  pause  ? 

EBN  JAHIA. 
I  will  not  wait. 

RENE. 

Then  tell  me,  dost  thou  fear  ? 
Art  thou  not  certain  of  the  issue  ?     Thou 
Didst  put  to  question  yonder  silent  stars, 
From  which  thy  potent  art  can  wring  response. 
What  was  their  answer  ?  tell  me,  Ebn  Jahia. 
The  horoscope — was't  happy  ? 


KING  RENE'S  DAUGHTER  37 

EBN  JAHIA. 

Yes,  it  was. 

I  told  you  so  already.     Yet  the  stars 
[nclinantj  non  necessitant.    They  influence 
The  fortunes  of  mankind,  yet  do  they  not 
Rule  Nature's  laws  with  absolute  control. 
Rest  thee  at  ease  :  I  have  no  fear  for  this. 
— Another  hindrance  menaces  my  skill. 

RENfi. 

A  hindrance  ? 

EBN  JAHIA. 

One,  my  liege,  I  apprehend, 
Which  you  will  find  it  hard  to  obviate, 
lolanthe,  ere  I  bend  me  to  my  task, 
Must  comprehend  what  she  till  now  has  lack'd — 
Must  learn  this  very  day  that  she  is  blind. 

RENE. 
No,  Ebn  Jahia,  no  ;  this  cannot  be  ! 

EBN  JAHIA. 
It  must  be,  or  my  skill  is  powerless. 

RENfi. 

No,  no  !  oh,  never  !  never  !     Thou  wilt  not 


28  KING  REN&S  DAUGHTER. 

Constrain  me  to  this  monstrous  cruelty, 
And  strip  her  all  at  once,  with  sudden  wrench, 
Of  that  unconsciousness  has  been  her  blessing  ; 
Not  slowly,  by  degrees,  but  all  at  once, 
Force  on  her  tender  soul  this  fearful  truth  ? 
And  if  the  cure  should  fail  us  after  all  ? 
Hast  thou  forgot  how  we,  year  after  year, 
With  care  almost  incredible,  have  watch'd 
To  keep  from  her  this  melancholy  truth  ? 
This  course  thyself  suggested — showing  me 
The  difficult  road  which  I  was  bound  to  follow. 
Now,  wilt  thou  raze  the  fabric  thou  hast  reared  ? 
Say,  wherefore — wherefore  ? 

EBN  JAHIA. 

I  wilt  tell  you  wherefore, 
So  please  you  lend  a  favoring  ear  the  while. 
You  deem,  belike,  our  sense  of  vision  rests 
Within  the  eye ;  yet  is  it  but  a  means. 
From  the  soul's  depths  the  power  of  vision  flows, 
And  those  fine  nerves,  that  on  the  eye  converge, 
From  the  brain's  secret  workshop  emanate, 
lolanthe  must  be  conscious  of  her  state — 
Her  inward  eye  must  first  be  opened,  ere 


KING  RENT'S  DAUGHTER.  29 

The  light  can  pour  upon  the  outward  sense. 

A  want  must  be  developed  in  her  soul ; 

A  feeling  that  anticipates  the  light — 

A  craving  sense  ;  for  know,  my  noble  liege, 

That  nothing  e'er  is  on  mankind  bestowed, 

Unless  for  it  he  feel  necessity. 

Deep  in  his  soul  a  yearning  must  arise 

For  a  contentment,  which  it  strives  to  win. 

Let  me,  for  you,  exemplar  take  from  what 

Your  studies  make  familiar.     That  fair  art — 

That  joyous  science  of  sweet  poesy, 

Which  is  so  widely  famed  throughout  Provence — 

Mankind  receive  it  by  the  Muses'  favor  : 

Is  it  not  so  ?     But  how  ?     Do  all  receive  it  ? 

No  ;  only  he  within  whose  bosom  dwelt, 

As  in  a  dream,  a  bright  poetic  world, 

And  who  hath  yearned  for  it  with  quenchless  love. 

RENE. 

I'll  not  contest  with  thee,  good  Ebn  Jahia  ! 
I  may  not  cope  with  thee  in  lore  profound  ; 
Yet  pity's  voice  speaks  loudly  in  my  heart, 
And  drowns  thy  arguments  with  mightier  tones. 
I  cannot  do  it !     No,  it  may  not  be  ! 


30  KING  RENT'S  DAUGHTER. 

EBN  JAHIA. 

E'en  as  you  will.     I  only  can  advise  ; 
And  if  you  will  not  trust  to  my  advice, 
Then  I  am  useless  here.     So,  fare  ye  well ! 
Hence  to  the  convent,  I  !     There  you  will  find  me, 
If  your  resolve  shall  alter.    Yet,  bethink  you  : 
Sink  but  the  sun  behind  yon  mountain  tops, 
My  utmost  skill  cannot  again  avail. 

(Exit  through  the  concealed  door.) 

RENE. 

Oh,  dreadful  strait !     And  I  so  dearly  bought 
A  hope,  which  yet  so  soon  may  be  undone  ! 
Shall  I  destroy  at  once  her  cheerful  mood, 
Convert  it  into  comfortless  despair, 
And  see  her  youth  grow  pale  by  slow  degrees, 
Wither  and  die  in  mournful  consciousness  ? 
No  !    This  is  Jahia's  obstinacy  merely ; 
He  yet  shall  yield.     I  will  not  rest  until 
He  hears  me,  and  submits  to  my  desire. 

(Exit  after  EBN  JAHIA,  as  MARTHA  and 
BERTRAND  enter.) 

MARTHA. 
The  king  gone  hence,  and,  as  it  seemed,  in  wrath, 


KING  RENT'S  DAUGHTER.  31 

And  Ebn  Jahia  nowhere  to  be  seen  ! 
What  has  occurred  ? 

BERTRAND. 

Indeed,  Heav'n  only  knows  ! 
Yet  am  I  ill  at  ease,  as  matters  stand  : 
And  Ebn  Jahia,  I  do  fear  me  much, 
Will  fail  us  at  the  last. 

MARTHA. 

Nay,  think  ye  so  ? 

BERTRAND. 

Heaven  grant  that  I  be  wrong  !     Yet  like  I  not 
The  dark  and  moody  nature  of  the  man  ; 
And,  to  be  frank  with  you,  I  feel  a  dread 
Of  one  endow'd  with  such  mysterious  pow'r. 
There  lies  the  child  upon  her  couch,  as  though 
Life  were  extinct ;  one  motion  of  his  hand, 
And  sleep,  as  if  by  magic,  seals  her  eyes. 
This  is  not,  cannot  come  to  good"! 

MARTHA. 

Content  thee, 

Nor  thus  torment  thyself  with  causeless  fears. 
Thou  knowest  well,  that  when  her  sleep  is  o'er, 


32  KING  RENT'S  DAUGHTER 

And  from  her  breast  the  amulet  removed, 
She  beams  afresh  in  bright  and  blooming  health. 
Is  it  not  marvellous,  how  this  strange  sleep 
Strengthens  her  more,  much  more,  than  sleep  at  night- 
Gives  vigor,  and  enlivens  every  sense  ? 
Yea,  ev'n  her  eyes,  as  I  have  noted  oft, 
Are  deepen'd  in  their  lustre  when  she  wakes, 
As  though  the  rays  of  light  had  found  a  way 
Into  their  orbs,  while  she  lay  slumbering  : 
This  is,  I  trust,  a  favorable  sign. 

BERTRAND. 

Well,  well,  thou  may'st  be  right ;  and  time  will  show  !- 
Let  us  away  !     Much  yet  is  to  be  done 
Among  our  people  yonder  in  the  field. 
We  may  withdraw  from  lolanthe  now  : 
She  sleeps,  and  cannot  wake  till  our  return. 

(Exeunt  behind  the  house.) 


KING  REN&S  DAUGHTER.  33 


THIRD    SCENE. 

TRISTAN  of  Vaudemont,  GEOFFREY  of  Orange,  each 
with  a  cithern  slung  upon  his  shoulder, 

GEOFFREY  (stopping  in  front  of  the  concealed  door). 
Look  to  your  steps  !  'tis  dark  as  midnight  here  ! 

TRISTAN. 
Push  onward  !     Stay — here  is  a  door  ! 

GEOFFREY. 

A  door  ? 
TRISTAN. 
Patience  !     A  bolt— it  yields  !    What  do  I  see  ? 

(Both  enter) 
GEOFFREY. 
Heavens  !    What  a  gust  of  exquisite  perfume  ! 

TRISTAN. 

A  garden  !     Here — shrined  in  the  mountain  waste  ! 
What  beauty,  too — what  order  !     Only  look  ! 

GEOFFREY. 
1  ;im  amazed  ! 


34  KING  RENT'S  DAUGHTER. 

TRISTAN. 

What  man  is  he,  that  owns 

This  witching  spot  ?    You  know  the  country  well, 
And  dwell  hard  by. 

GEOFFREY. 

Indeed,  I  cannot  say. 
Of  such  a  paradise  I  never  dreamed. 
A  garden  of  the  tropics — studded  o'er 
With  all  rare  flowers  !     Behold  the  lofty  palms  ! 

TRISTAN. 

The  mansion  rising  through — how  beautiful ! 
Half-hid  with  ivy  and  the  clambering  rose  ! 
— And  yet,  its  inmates  ? 

GEOFFREY. 

Not  a  soul  see  I. 

I  could  be  sworn,  this  paradise  arose 
In  some  fair  summer  night,  when  Dian  gave 
One  golden  hour  to  her  Endymion, 
Veiling  beneath  these  rocks  their  fearful  joys  ! 
But  its  inhabitants  have  taken  flight. 

TRISTAN. 
Nay,  here  be  many  signs  of  human  hands, 


KIXG  REX&S  DAUGHTER.  35 

Fair,  I'll  be  sworn,  and  gentle.     Here— see  here 
Fresh  footmarks  on  the  pathway  ! 

GEOFFREY. 

You  are  right. 

A  tiny  foot  and  dainty  !     Let  us  on  ! 
By  following  this  we  scarce  can  go  amiss. 
Observe,  it  leads  right  onwards  to  the  house  ! 

TRISTAN. 

No,  let  us  wait  till  somebody  appears. 
We  should  be  most  discourteous.     Bad  enough, 
That  we  have  come  thus  far  without  consent ! 

GEOFFREY. 

Well,  as  you  please.     So  our  luck  fails  us  not, 
I'll  tax  my  courtesy,  and  wait  in  patience, 
For,  in  good  sooth,  luck  hath  been  ours  indeed — 
Hath  it  not,  Tristan  ?     See,  how  things  have  fallen  : 
As  near  the  convent  idly  on  we  stroll'd, 
Whiling  the  time  with  interchange  of  song, 
I  chanced  to  spy  King  Rend  passing  near, 
Rapt  in  close  talk  with  the  Cordovan  leech. 
To  'scape  his  glance,  you  drag  me  after  you, 
And,  hurrying  on  o'er  rock  and  wilderness, 


36  AVJVG  REN&S  DAUGHTER. 

Here,  at  the  mountain's  base,  we  chance  upon 

Yon  secret  passage,  craftily  contrived. 

Following  it  up,  awhile  we  grope  about 

In  darkness,  and,  in  short,  have  landed  here. 

— But  tell  me,  now,  what  prompted  you 

So  to  avoid  the  king  ?    To  meet  him,  'twas, 

That  you  came  here.     You  urged  me  to  attend 

Upon  you  at  the  interview  to-morrow  ; 

And  you— 'tis  known  familiarly  to  all — 

You  have  been  long  affianced  to  his  daughter. 

TRISTAN. 

Affianced  !     Yes,  they  say  so.    Yet  was  I 
Scarce  nine  years  old,  when  I  was  thus  betrothed. 
My  father  made  the  terms  with  Burgundy, 
When  we  a  truce  concluded  with  the  king 
But,  Geoffrey,  now  I'm  grown  to  riper  years  ; 
And  as  this  contract,  in  the  full  career 
Of  victory,  wrong'd  and  robb'd  me  of  my  rights, 
So  on  this  marriage  look  I  now  with  hate. 
Unwillingly  I  came  ;  unwillingly 
In  this  vile  business  I  am  like  to  move. 

GEOFFREY. 
I  grieve  to  hear  it,  for  King  Rend's  sake. 


A'/.Vt;   /iA-Xt-'S  DAUGHTER. 

For  many  a  day,  I  know,  his  joy  has  been 
The  goodly  promise  of  these  nuptial  ties. 

TRISTAN. 

Goodly  to  him  they  may  be,  I  believe. 
— Know  you  his  daughter  ? 

GEOFFREY. 

No ;  she  has  been  rear'd 
In  some  far  Spanish  convent,  and  came  home 
Here  to  her  father,  but  to  meet  with  you. 
—But  let  us,  friend,  bethink  us  where  we  are  ! 
We  forced  our  way  in,  and,  it  must  be  own'd, 
The  spot  is  charming.     But  the  question  now, 
Is,  can  we  quite  as  easily  retire  ? 

TRISTAN. 
Nay,  never  fear. 

GEOFFREY. 

Would  you  not,  then,  find  out 
Whether  this  mansion  hath  inhabitants  ? 
Assail  the  door  !— Shall  I,  then  ? 

TRISTAN. 

Nay,  let  me ! 

In  case  some  demon  lord  it  in  this  place. 
4 


38  A'AVG   KENT'S  DAUGHTER. 

'Tis  just,  the  danger  first  should  light  on  me, 
Whose  charge  it  was  that  lured  you  on  to  it. 

(Knocks  at  the  door.) 
No — no  one  comes  ! 

GEOFFREY. 
Try  if  the  door  will  open. 

TRISTAN. 
It  gives  not  way. 

GEOFFREY. 
Press  harder  ;  it  will  yield  ! 

TRISTAN. 

So  be  it,  then  !    (Opens  the  door.)    Heavens,  Geoffrey, 
what  a  form  ! 

GEOFFREY. 
Some  spirit  ? 

TRISTAN. 

How  !     A  spirit  ?    Yes,  methinks 
One  of  the  radiant  ministers  of  light ! 
Look! 

GEOFFREY  (looking  in). 
A  fair  girl  upon  a  dainty  couch  ! 
Surely  she  sleeps  ! 


KIXG  RENT'S  DAUGHTER.  *<) 

TRISTAN. 

She  sleeps.    Her  breathing  heaves 
Her  bosom  gently — gently  sinks  it  down. 
See,  now  a  smile  is  hovering  on  her  lips, 
As  though  she  dreamt  of  our  bewilderment, 

GEOFFREY. 

I  pray  you,  Tristan,  let  us  fly  from  hence  ! 
This  witching  vision  doth  disturb  my  soul— 
Too  witching  all,  and  all  too  beautiful. 
This  is  some  wizard's  castle — let  us  away  ! 
Come  !    Mystic  serpents  threaten  us,  I  know. 
—Tristan,  where  are  you  rapt  ?    All  heavenly  powers  1 
He's  charm'd  already  !     Rooted  to  the  earth, 
He  stands,  and  stares  on  her.    Oh,  Tristan,  come  ! 

TRISTAN. 

Speak  softly,  Geoffrey,  for  a  breath  might  wake  her  ! 
Speak  softly  !    'Twere  a  sin  to  break  the  calm, 
The  holy  stillness,  which  her  slumber  sheds 
On  everything  around  ! 

GEOFFREY. 

Oh,  hear  me !  hear  me  ! 
TRISTAN. 
Hush  !     Not  a  word,  I  say  !     This  place  is  holy  ! 


40  KINd  REN&S  DAUG1ITEK. 

(Kneels,  bending  forward  with  outstretched 

arms  towards  the  open  door.) 
Oh,  be  not  angry,  that  with  eyes  profane 
I  have  intruded  on  thy  resting-place  ! 

GEOFFREY. 

Rise  up!     I  tremble  for  you  !     You  are  caught 
In  an  enchanter's  spell.     The  vision  is 
Some  cheating  phantom.     Follow  me  ! 

TRISTAN. 

I  cannot. 
GEOFFREY. 

Then  do  not  kneel  there  like  a  marble  block  ! 
Tush  !  be  a  man.     If  hence  you  will  not  fly, 
At  least  command  your  spirits  !     Let  us  learn 
Who  this  fair  creature  is.     Awake  her  ! 

TRISTAN. 

No! 
That  were  a  sin  ! 

GEOFFREY. 
If  you  will  not,  I  will.    (Enters.) 

TRISTAN. 

Audacious  man  1     He  calls  to  her— hark  !  hark  ! 
Hew  now— he  clasps  her  hand 


KING  li£JVJJ'S  DAUGHTER.  41 

GEOFFREY  (rushing  out}. 

Away  !  away ! 

She  cannot  wake.     Her  senses  are  enthrall'd 
By  some  dark  demon's  necromantic  spells. 
Oh,  come  !     I  quake  for  fear  !    We've  rudely  broke 
Into  a  holy  place — 'twill  be  our  death  ! 

TRISTAN. 

A  holy  place  !     You  name  it  well.     But  it 
Imports  not  death,  but  life.    Well,  well,  no  matter  ! 
Come,  let  us  quit  this  consecrated  ground, 
Which  wrongly  we  intruded  on.     She  sleeps. 
It  is  unchivalrous  to  tarry 

GEOFFREY. 

Come ! 

TRISTAN. 

Yet  stay  !     I'll  grant  myself  one  little  look, 
One  moment  by  her  side,  to  scan  her  face, 
Then  follow  you  anon.  (Enters) 

GEOFFREY. 

See  there — he  kneels  ! 
Upon  her  hand  imprints  one  gentle  kiss. 
How  he  surveys  her  !     There— he  hath  unclasp'd 

I 


42  KING  RENT'S  DAUGHTER. 

A  ribbon  from  her  neck,  and  bears  it  off ! 
Now,  Heav'n  be  praised,  he  comes  to  me  again. 

TRISTAN  (returns). 

Now  have  I  graven  deeply  on  my  heart 
Her  beauteous  form.     It  cannot  vanish  now. 
Ay,  let  us  hence,  and  dread  this  witchery  ! 
Yet  did  I  vow  to  seek  this  spot  again, 
And,  if  I  err'd  not,  with  a  gracious  smile 
She  heard  my  vow,  and  bless'd  it  in  her  dreams. 
See,  Geoffrey,  I  have  ta'en  this  ornament, 
A  gem  of  price,  that  lay  upon  her  breast. 
Like  Jesse's  son,  who  from  the  sleeping  Saul 
Took  of  his  robe  a  fragment,  for  a  sign 
That  in  his  hands  the  monarch's  life  had  been, 
So  may  this  jewel  likewise  testify 
That  I  was  here,  and  that  my  life  was  placed 
Within  her  hand,  even  while  she  lay  in  sleep. 
Come,  Geoffrey  ! 

(Returns  'with  GEOFFREY  towards  the  con' 

cealed  door,  as  IOLANTHE  appears  at  the 

door  of  the  house.) 


KING  RENT'S  DAUGHTER  43 

FOURTH    SCENE. 
TRISTAN.    GEOFFREY.    IOLANTHE. 

(Notwithstanding  IOLANTHE'S  blindness,  all  her  move- 
ments are  unconstrained  and  decided.  Only  now 
and  then  a  listening  attitude,  with  a  slight  motion 
of  the  hand,  as  though  she  were  feeling  before  her, 
betrays  the  want  of  sight.  Her  eyes  are  open,  but 
frequently  bent  downwards,  and  with  little  motion 
in  them) 

IOLANTHE  (at  the  door). 
Martha !     Bertrand ! 

TRISTAN. 

Ha !  'tis  she  ! 

IOLANTHE. 
Sure,  some  one  spoke  !    (Advances^    Who's  there  ? 

TRISTAN. 

A  stranger,  who 

Implores  forgiveness,  that  he  rudely  broke 
Your  and  this  place's  sanctified  repose. 

IOLANTHE. 
Give  me  thy  hand.    Thou  never  hast  been  here  ! 


44  KING  RENE'S  DAUGHTER. 

Nor  do  I  even  know  thy  voice.     Didst  speak 
With  Bertrand  or  with  Martha  on  the  way  ? 

TRISTAN. 

I  spoke  with  no  one.     Accident  alone 
Hath  led  me  hither. 

GEOFFREY  (aside  to  TRISTAN). 
Ask  about  Bertrand  ! 

IOLANTHE  (listening). 
And  whom  hast  thou  brought  with  thee  ? 

TRISTAN. 

'Tis  my  friend, 

A  troubadour  and  knight,  who  dwells  hard  by. 

IOLANTHE. 

You  both  are  truly  welcome.    Will  you  not 
Go  in  with  me  ?    'Tis  cool  and  fresher  there. 

GEOFFREY  (quickly). 

Nay,  so  you  please,  we'll  tarry  where  we  are. 
(Aside  to  TRISTAN.)    'Tis  safer  so,  methinks  ! 

IOLANTHE  (still  holding  TRISTAN'S  hand). 

Thy  hand  is  warm — 

I  feel  the  pulse's  throb.     Hath  not  the  heat 
Oppressed  thee  by  the  way  ?     Art  thou  not  thirsty  ? 


KING  RENEWS  DAUGHTER.  45 

Wait,  and  I'll  bring  thee  forth  a  cup  of  wine. 

(Goes  into  the  house.) 

TRISTAN. 

Oh,  what  a  lovely  being  !    What  dignity, 
What  gracious  gentleness  in  every  feature  ! 
And  her  sweet  voice  ! 

GEOFFREY. 

A  wondrous  voice,  indeed  ! 
That  fascinates  the  heart  at  unawares, 
And  binds  it  utterly  in  softest  thrall ! 
Of  noble  birth  she  is,  beyond  all  question  ; 
Yet — some  precaution  cannot  be  amiss. 
Drink  not  the  wine,  dear  Tristan,  when  it  comes. 

TRISTAN. 
I  would  drink  death,  if  from  her  hand,  with  joy  ! 

(IOLANTHE  comes  back  -with  a  flagon  and  cup.) 

lOLANTHE. 

Here  is  the  wine  my  father  always  drinks. 
It  is  too  strong  for  me  ;  but  will  you  taste  it  ? 

(Fills  the  cup  and  presents  it  to  TRISTAN.) 

TRISTAN  (as  he  drinks). 
This  to  thy  happiness,  thou  lovely  maid  ! 


46  KING  RENT'S  DAUGHTER. 

lOLANTHE. 

Give  now  thy  friend  the  cup,  if  he  desire  it. 
I  will  go  gather  fruit  for  you — some  dates 
And  grapes,  or  any  other  fruit  you  will. 

(Plucks  fruit,  and  places  it  in  a  basket  -which 
she  has  taken  from  the  tabled) 

TRISTAN  (giving  GEOFFREY  the  cup}. 
There,  Geoffrey,  drink ! 

GEOFFREY. 

Have  you  felt  nothing  strange — 
No  lassitude — no ? 

TRISTAN. 

Nothing.     Never  fear ! 
GEOFFREY. 
It  is  wine,  then  ?     (Drinks}     Right  Malvoisie,  by 

heav'ns  ! 
No  better  drinks  King  Renews  self,  I  trow. 

(Drinks  again} 

Ha,  what  a  wine  !     Where  we  such  nectar  find, 
In  sooth,  no  demon  can  have  mastery  ! 

IOLANTHE  (rejoins  them}. 

Here  I  have  fruits,  so  please  you  taste  of  them. 
I'll  place  them  on  the  table. 


KING  RENE  S  DA UGHTER.  * 

GEOFFREY. 

Beauteous  lady, 

Already  you  so  truly  have  refresh'd  us, 
And  in  this  cup  have  minister'd  a  wine 
So  rare,  and  so  delicious,  we  might  deem, 
And  with  best  cause,  our  entertainment  came 
From  some  most  wealthy,  ay,  and  noble  house. 
Beauty  and  wine  the  loadstars  are  of  song. 
Then  lend  a  friendly  ear  unto  my  words. 
Which,  lightly  woven  into  a  lay,  unfold 
At  once  our  homage  and  our  gratitude. 

(Sings,  accompanying  hirnself  on  his  cithern) 

The  eagle  we  tell 

By  his  sweep  full  well, 
As  proudly  afar  in  the  clouds  he  soars  ; 

And  the  nightingale 

By  the  trilling  wail 
Her  throat  in  the  dewy  May-time  pours. 

By  valor  and  skill, 
And  a  temperate  will, 
The  knight  approveth  his  worth  to  all  ; 


48  KING  RENT'S  DAUGHTER. 

And  deftly  to  sing, 
With  sweet  minstrelling, 
Makes  troubadour  honor'd  in  bower  and  hall. 

(Changes  the  measure^ 
But  when  amid  gentles  and  ladies  gay, 

His  echoing  harp  he  raises, 
And  seeks  by  the  flow  of  his  tuneful  lay 

To  win  him  their  guerdons,  their  praises  ; 
And  when  with  the  goblet  the  foot-page  fine 

His  carol  hath  cheerly  greeted, 
Full  soon  doth  he  note,  by  the  noble  wine, 

'Neath  a  noble's  roof  he's  seated. 

lOLANTHE. 

The  song  is  beautiful,  and  doth  bespeak 
A  cunning  high  and  rare. 

TRISTAN. 

My  friend  is  famed 
Among  Provence's  young  troubadours. 

IOLANTHE  (to  TRISTAN). 
Art  thou,  too,  gifted  with  the  power  of  song  ? 

TRISTAN. 
Ah,  I  am  but  a  novice  ;  yet,  methinks 


KING  REN&S  DAUGHTER.  49 

Your  gentleness  doth  make  me  bold  to  sing. 
Then  pray  you  for  the  deed  accept  the  will. 

(Sings,  preluding  each    verse  'with  a  few 
notes  of  the  cithern) 

I  came  where  the  echoing  city  lay, 
And  over  the  mountains  I  took  my  way, 

Weary  and  darkling,  by  rock  and  by  lea  ; 
When  a  valley  burst  suddenly  on  my  sight, 
Basking  and  beaming  in  sunshine  bright, 

And  gemm'd  with  all  beautiful  flowers  that  be. 

Here  all  was  still.     No  sweet  bird's  note 
On  my  listening  ear  in  the  silence  smote— 

No  sound,  or  of  man  or  of  life  arose  ; 
And,  as  in  some  temple's  most  sacred  hall, 
In  this  vale  of  enchantment  fair  seem'd  all 

To  be  lulPd  for  aye  in  a  charm'd  repose. 

A  door  flew  wide,  and  a  form  of  light 
Beam'd,  like  a  star,  on  my  wondering  sight ; 

Like  a  dewy  rosebud,  oppress'd  with  sleep, 
Which  a  wizard's  wand  had  over  it  thrown, 
Didst  thou  seem  to  me,  thou  lovely  one, 

And  all  things  anaar  thee  a  hush  did  keep. 


Co  KING  RENE'S  DAUGHTER. 

The  zephyr  dreams  on  thy  pearly  cheek, 

The  flame  on  the  hearth  burns  faint  and  weak, 
The  palm-trees  drowsily  droop  their  crest ; 

For  all  things  have  life  through  thee  alone, 

For  all  things  will  only  be  thine  own, 
And  close  their  eyelids  when  thine  do  rest. 

Thou  didst  awake,  and  a  soul  of  life, 

Through  air,  and  through  flower  and  grove,  grew  rife, 
As  though  a  sunbeam  their  sleep  had  broke  ! 

Oh,  gentle  rose,  take  to  thy  heart, 

As  the  homage  pure  of  my  faltering  art, 
The  lay  which  thy  beauty  to  being  woke  ! 

lOLANTHE. 

(To  TRISTAN,  after  a  pause,  in  which  she  stands 

absorbed,  with  her  hand  upon  her  forehead?) 
Lend  me  the  cithern. 

(After  preluding  upon  the  instrument,  she  sings,  ac- 
companying herself  with  occasional  chords?) 

Highly  be  honor'd 

The  stranger  guest, 

Who  comes  with  a  blithesome 


KING  REN&S  DAUGHTER. 

And  cordial  heart, — 
Brings  us  a  treasure 
Of  story  and  measure, 
And  fills  us  with  silent  and  wondering  pleasure  ! 

Yet  higher  than  all 
Be  honor  to  him, 
The  guest  who  doth  bring  us 
Song  link'd  to  the  lyre  ; 
Who  living  thoughts,  woven 
In  melody,  pours, 
And  on  winged  words  freely  and  joyously  soars  ! 

With  the  minestrel  enters 
An  influence  holy 
Under  our  portals  ; 
While  that  he  singeth, 
Listens  the  air, 
Hush'd  are  the  flowerets, 
And,  lowly  inclining, 
Stay  their  .sweet  breathing  to  list  to  the  strain. 

You,  O  ye  strangers, 
You  who  came  hither 


52  KING  RENE'S  DAUGHTER. 

With  harp  and  with  song, 
With  me  dividing 
Your  souls'  inspiration, 
You  do  I  thank  ! 
Ah  !  I  so  feeble, 
I  could  not  fathom 
All  that  you  sang. 
Novel  and  strange, 
Strange  as  yourselves, 
It  swept  me  along,  the  light- winged  song  ; 

Here  in  the  valley, 
Deep  in  the  thicket, 
Oftentimes  nestleth 
A  stranger  bird  ; 
And  in  the  evening, 
Dream-like  and  still, 
Her  song  from  the  leaves  doth  the  nightingale  trill. 

No  one  can  teach  me 
To  sweep  the  guitar, 
Till  it  throbs  like  her  song. 
No  one  can  give  me 
Her  rapturous  strain, 
That  lifted  my  soul  on  its  pinions,  again. 


KING  REN&S  DAUGHTER  r-, 

Whence,  O  ye  strangers, 
Cometli  your  song  ? 
Say,  is  its  home  there, 
Where,  as  I  deem, 
Fond  aspirations, 
Yearning  and  sighs, 
In  the  slumberous  silence  of  evening  arise  ? 

Say,  have  the  airy 
Tenants  of  ether 
Taught  you  their  strains  ? 
Strains  so  enchanting, 
Flowing  so  wildly  ; 
Strains  that  have  freighted 
My  dreams  with  delight ; 
Strains  full  of  story, 
Life-like  and  clear ; 
Strains  that  gave  glory 
To  all  that  is  near  ! 

GEOFFREY. 
What  lo  ty  poesy  ! 

TRISTAN  (to  IOLANTHE). 
To  the  nightingale 
You  have  compared  our  song.     Oh,  were  I  but 


54  A'/.VG  XEN&S  DAUGHTER. 

The  meanest,  tiniest  of  yonder  birds, 
That  build  their  nests  anigh  your  dwelling-place, 
And  evermore  might  list  the  lovely  strains 
That  do  inspire  your  breast ! 

GEOFFREY. 

Oh,  noble  lady, 

There  is  one  question — pray  you  pardon  it ! — 
Which  musing  wonder  forces  to  my  lips  : 
You  live  here  from  the  world  cut  off,  and  none 
Of  all  the  knights  and  ladies  of  Provence 
Your  rare  perfections  e'er  have  heard  or  known  ; 
What  line  so  blest  can  claim  you  for  its  child — 
And  who  your  father  ? 

lOLANTHE. 

How  !     Not  know  my  father  ? 
That  gives  me  wonder  ;  for  none  e'er  come  here 
Who  know  not  him. 

GEOFFREY. 
I  pray  you,  what  his  name  ? 

lOLANTHE. 

The  rest  do  call  him  Raymbaud. 


KING  RENE'S  DAUGHTER.  re 

GEOFFREY. 

Raymbaud?  Raymbaud? 
Is  he  a  knight  ? 

lOLANTHE. 
A  knight  ? 

GEOFFREY. 

Or  warrior  ? 

Wears  he  a  helm,  and  shield,  and  golden  spurs  ? 
What  his  pursuits  ? 

lOLANTHE. 

That  have  I  ne'er  inquired. 

GEOFFREY. 
Why  are  you  pent  up  here  so  close  ? 

IOLANTHE  (surprised). 

So  close  ? 
GEOFFREY. 
Ay,  close  and  lonely  ? 

IOLANTHE. 

Lonely  I  am  not. 
There  you  do  much  mistake. 

GEOFFREY. 

Yet  no  one's  here  ? 


56  KING  REN&S  DAUGHTER. 

lOLANTHE. 

No,  no  one's  here.     You're  right ;  I  cannot  guess 
How  this  should  be.     I  never  am  alone. 
But  only  wait,  and  I  will  summon  Bertrand. 
He  will  be  truly  glad  that  you  are  come. 

(Exit  into  the  house.) 

GEOFFREY. 

Now  'twill  be  seen  who  is  this  valley's  lord. 

Yet  can  I  not  subdue  the  rising  thought, 

That  some  dark  mystery  is  here  on  foot, 

Which  he  that  owns  this  valley  will  be  loath 

That  we  should  pry  into.    You  cannot  fail 

To  note,  how  cunningly  yon  door  is  covered 

With  moss,  and  stones,  and  branches,  that,  when  closed, 

It  scarce  may  be  distinguished  from  the  rock. 

Take  my  advice,  and  tarry  near  the  door. 

I  will  but  wait  till  some  one  comes,  and  then 

Betake  me  straightway  to  the  mountain  pass, 

To  keep  the  entrance  clear  for  our  escape. 

Some  of  your  people  I  may  chance  to  meet. 

Should  aught  appear  amiss,  I  will  return 

Upon  the  moment.     Do  you  hear  me,  Tristan  ? 


KElffrS  DAUGHTER.  $7 

TRISTAN. 
Ay,  ay!    Go,  go !    There! 

GEOFFREY. 

Is  your  heart  enchain'd  ? 
Has  this  young  beauty  quite  enchanted  you  ? 

TRISTAN. 

No,  I  am  ill  at  ease.    My  head's  confused  ; 
I  almost  think  this  tranquil  valley  is 
That  goal  for  which  I've  panted  all  my  days  ; 
That  here,  at  length,  my  restless,  soaring  pride 
Shall  find  its  true  repose. 

GEOFFREY  (gravely). 

I  prithee,  friend, 
Remember,  that  King  Rene'  waits  for  you. 

TRISTAN. 

What  is  King  Rend,  or  his  hopes,  to  me  ? 
What !     For  a  province,  which  by  law  and  right 
Is  truly  mine,  by  our  good  swords  achieved, 
Shall  I,  in  my  youth's  holiday,  be  chain'd 
To  his  daughter— to  a  girl  whom  no  one  knows— 
Whom  no  one  e'er  hath  seen— whilst  I— 


58  KING  UEN&S  DAUGHTER. 

GEOFFREY. 

You  rave  i 

This  fit  will  pass.     But  now  you  are  bewitch'd. 
Stifle  this  feverish  passion  in  your  breast. 

TRISTAN. 
Could  I  do  that,  I  were  bewitch'd  indeed. 

GEOFFREY. 
Hush  !  hush  !     Some  one  approaches. 

(IOLANTHE  returns  from  the  house) 

lOLANTHE. 

Are  you  here  ? 
GEOFFREY. 
Wilt  lead  us  to  the  master  of  the  house  ? 

IOLANTHE. 

Alas  !  they  are  all  gone,  and  no  one  came 
In  answer  to  my  call.     They,  have  forsook  me. 

TRISTAN. 
But  they  will  come  again. 

IOLANTHE. 

Yes  ;  thou  art  right — 
They  have  gone  forth,  I  warrant,  to  the  vintage. 


KING   RENE'S  DAUGHTER.  jg 

I,  too,  at  times  go  with  them.     But,  when  not, 
There  still  is  some  one  with  me. 

GEOFFREY  (to  TRISTAN). 

You  stay  here  ? 

TRISTAN. 
I  will. 

GEOFFREY. 

So  be  it,  while  I  go  watch  the  pass. 
(Exit,  bowing  to  IOLANTHE,  who  does  not  return  the 
salutation} 

IOLANTHE  (listening). 
Goes  thy  friend  hence  ? 

TRISTAN. 

He  will  return  anon. 
Your  pardon  now — let  me  atone  a  fault 
I  have  committed  ;  but  oh,  chide  me  not ! 
As  you  lay  sleeping,  from  your  breast  I  took 
An  ornament,  as  a  memorial  token. 
'Tis  here  ! 

IOLANTHE. 
Where  ?  where  ? 

(TRISTAN  gives  her  the  amulet.} 
An  ornament — and  mine  ? 


6o  KING  RENT'S  DAUGHTER. 

TRISTAN. 
Yes ;  I  conjecture  so. 

lOLANTHE. 

It  is  not  mine  ; 
But  I  will  ask  of  Martha. 

(Lays  the  amulet  on  the  table?) 

TRISTAN. 

In  its  stead 

Pray  give  me  one  of  yonder  blushing  roses, 
That  rear  their  petals,  fairest  'mongst  all  flow'rs, 
As  though  they  were  the  counterfeit  of  thee  ! 

lOLANTHE. 
A  rose  ?     Oh,  willingly  ! 

(Plucks  and  gives  him  a  white  rose?) 

TRISTAN. 

Ah,  it  is  white  ! 
Give  me  the  red  one,  that  is  fair  as  thou  ! 

lOLANTHE. 

What  meanest  thou  ? — a  red  one  ? 

TRISTAN  (pointing). 

One  of  these. 


KINO  REN&S  DAUGHTER.  6 1 

lOLANTHE. 

Take  it  thyself ! 

TRISTAN. 

No  ;  let  me  keep  the  rose 
Which   thou  hast  chosen,  which  thy  fair  hand  has 

gather'd. 

And  in  good  sooth  I  do  applaud  thy  choice. 
For  the  white  rose,  within  whose  calyx  sleeps 
A  faint  and  trembling  ruddiness,  betypes 
The  dream-like  beauty  of  this  garden  fair. 
Give  me  another  rose — a  white  one,  too  ; 
Then  with  the  twin  flowers  will  I  deck  my  cap, 
And  wear  them  as  thy  color*  evermore. 

IOLANTHE  (p hicks  and  gives  him  a  red  rose). 
Here  is  a  rose  ;  meanest  thou  one  like  this  ? 

TRISTAN  (starts). 
I  ask'd  thee  for  a  white  rose. 

IOLANTHE. 

Well,  and  this  ? 

TRISTAN. 

Why  this  ?— {Aside.)    What  thought  comes  o'er  me  ? 
(Aloud.)    Nay,  then,  tell  me  (holds  tip  the  two 


62  KING  RENT'S  DAUGHTER. 

roses,  along  -with  another  which  he  has  himself 
gathered} 
How  many  roses  have  I  in  my  hand  ? 

IOLANTHE  (stretches  out  her  hand  towards  them}. 
Give  me  them,  then. 

TRISTAN. 
Nay,  tell  me  without  touching. 

IOLANTHE. 
How  can  I  so  ? 

TRISTAN  (aside). 
Alas  !  alas  !  she's  blind  ! 
(Aloud,  and  with  a  faltering  voice.} 
Nay,  I  am  sure  you  know? 

IOLANTHE. 

No  ;  you  mistake. 

If  I  would  know  how  anything  is  shaped, 
Or  what  its  number,  I  must  touch  it  first. 
Is  not  this  clear  ? 

TRISTAN  (confused). 

Yes,  certainly  ;  you're  right. 
And  yet  sometimes 

IOLANTHE. 
Well,  well  ? — sometimes  ?    Speak  !  speak ! 


KING  RENT'S  DAUGHTER.  63 

TRISTAN. 

I  think  there  are that  there  are  certain  things 

Which  we  distinguish  by  their  hues  alone, 
As  various  kinds  of  flowers,  and  various  stuffs. 

lOLANTHE. 

Thou  mean'st  by  this  their  character,  their  form  ; 

Is  it  not  so  ? 

TRISTAN. 
Nay,  not  exactly  that. 

lOLANTHE. 

Is  it  so  hard,  then,  to  distinguish  flowers  ? 
Are  not  the  roses  round,  and  soft,  and  fine, 
Round  to  the  feeling,  as  the  zephyr's  breath, 
And  soft  and  glowing  as  a  summer's  eve  ? 
Are  gilliflowers  like  roses  ?     No  ;  their  scent 
Bcdizzies,  like  the  wine  I  gave  to  thee. 
And  then  a  cactus— are  its  arrowy  points 
Not  stinging,  like  the  wind  when  frosts  are  keen  ? 

TRISTAN. 
(Aside.)    Amazement!     (Aloud.)    Have  they  never 

told  thee,  then, 

That  objects,  things,  can  be  distinguish'd,  though 
Placed  at  a  distance,— with  the  aid— of  sight  ? 


64  KING  lt£A'lL''X  DAUGHTER. 

lOLANTHE. 

At  distance  ?    Yes  !     I  by  his  twittering  know 

The  little  bird  that  sits  upon  the  roof, 

And,  in  like  fashion,  all  men  by  their  voice. 

The  sprightly  steed  whereon  I  daily  ride, 

I  know  him  in  the  distance  by  his  pace, 

And  by  his  neigh.    Yet — with  the  help  of  sight  ? 

They  told  me  not  of  that.     An  instrument 

Fashion'd  by  art,  or  but  a  tool,  perhaps  ? 

I  do  not  know  this  sight.     Canst  teach  me,  then, 

Its  use  and  purpose  ? 

TRISTAN  (aside). 

O  almighty  powers  ! 
She  does  not  know  or  dream  that  she  is  blind. 

IOLANTHE  (after  a  pause). 

Whence  art  thou  ?    Thou  dost  use  so  many  words 
I  find  impossible  to  understand  ; 
And  in  thy  converse,  too,  there  is  so  much 
For  me  quite  new  and  strange  !     Say,  is  the  vale 
Which  is  thy  home  so  very  different 
From  this  of  ours  ?    Then  stay,  if  stay  thou  canst, 
And  teach  me  all  that  I  am  wanting  in. 


KIXG  REN&S  DAUGHTER.  65 

TRISTAN. 

No,  O  thou  sweet  and  gracious  lady,  no  ! 
I  cannot  teach  what  thou  art  wanting  in. 

lOLANTHE. 

Didst  thou  but  choose,  I  do  believe  thou  couldst. 

They  tell  me  I  am  tractable  and  apt. 

Many,  who  erewhile  have  been  here,  have  taught  me 

Now  this,  now  that,  which  readily  I  learn'd. 

Make  but  the  trial.     I  am  very  sure 

Thou  hat'st  me  not.     Thy  tones  are  mild  and  gentle. 

Thou  wilt  not  say  me  "  nay,"  when  I  entreat. 

Oh,  speak  !  I'm  all  attention  when  thou  speakest. 

TRISTAN. 

Alas  !  attention  here  will  stead  thee  little. 
Yet— tell  me  one  thing.    Thou  hast  surely  learn'd 
That  of  thy  lovely  frame  there  is  no  part 
Without  its  purpose,  or  without  its  use. 
Thy  hand  and  fingers  serve  to  grasp  at  much  ; 
Thy  foot,  so  tiny  as  it  is,  with  ease 
Transports  thee  wheresoe'er  thy  wishes  point ; 
The  sound  of  words,  the  tone,  doth  pierce  the  soul 
Through  the  ear's  small  and  tortuous  avenues  ; 
The  stream  of  language  gushes  from  thy  lips  ; 
6* 


66  KING  RENT'S  DAUGHTER. 

Within  thy  breast  abides  the  delicate  breath, 
Which  heaves,  unclogg'd  with  care,  and  sinks  again. 

lOLANTHE. 

All  this  I've  noted  well.     Prithee,  go  on. 

TRISTAN. 

Then  tell  me,  to  what  end  dost  thou  suppose 
Omnipotence  hath  gifted  thee  with  eyes  ? 
Of  what  avail  to  thee  are  those  twin  stars, 
That  sparkle  with  such  wondrous  brilliancy, 
They  scorn  to  grasp  the  common  light  of  day  ? 

IOLANTHE  (touches  Jier  eyes,  then  muses  for  a  little). 
You  ask  of  what  avail  ? — how  can  you  ask  ? 
And  yet,  I  ne'er  have  given  the  matter  thought. 
My  eyes  !  my  eyes  !     'Tis  easy  to  perceive. 
At  eve,  when  I  am  weary,  slumber  first 
Droops  heavy  on  my  eyes,  and  thence  it  spreads 
O'er  all  my  body,  with  no  thought  of  mine, 
As  feeling  vibrates  from  each  finger's  tip. 
Thus,  then,  I  know  my  eyes  avail  me  much. 
And  hast  not  thou  experience  had  enough, 
Wherein  thine  eyes  can  minister  to  thee  ? 
Only  the*  other  morn,  as  I  was  planting 


KING  RENE'S  DAUGHTER.  67 

A  little  rosebush  here,  a  nimble  snake 

Leapt  out  and  bit  me  in  the  finger  ;  then 

With  the  sharp  pain  I  wept.     Another  time, 

When  I  had  pined  for  many  tedious  days, 

Because  my  father  was  detain'd  from  home, 

I  wept  for  very  gladness  when  he  came  ! 

Through  tears  I  gave  my  bursting  heart  relief, 

And  at  mine  eyes  it  found  a  gushing  vent. 

Then  never  ask  me,  unto  what  avail 

Omnipotence  hath  gifted  me  with  eyes. 

Through  them,  when  I  am  weary,  comes  repose  ; 

Through  them  my  sorrow's  lighten'd ;  and  through  them 

My  joy  is  raised  to  rapture. 

TRISTAN. 

Oh,  forgive  me  ! 

The  question  was  most  foolish  ;  for  in  thee 
Is  such  an  inward  radiancy  of  soul, 
Thou  hast  no  need  of  that  which  by  the  light 
We  through  the  eye  discern.    Say,  shall  I  deem 
That  thou  of  some  unheard-of  race  art  sprung, 
Richly  endow'd  with  other  powers  than  we  ? 
Thou  livest  lonely  here— this  valley,  too, 
Seems  conjured  forth  by  magic  'mongst  the  hills. 


68  KING  REN&S  DAUGHTER. 

Hast  thou  come  hither  from  the  golden  East, 
With  Peris  in  thy  train  ?— Or  art  thou  one 
Of  Brahma's  daughters,  and  from  Ind  hast  been 
Transported  hither  by  a  sorcerer  ? 
O  beautiful  unknown  !  if  thou  be'st  sprung 
Of  mortal  men,  who  call  the  earth  their  mother, 
Be  thou  to  life's  so  transitory  joys 
Susceptible  as  I,  and  deign  to  look 
With  favor  on  a  knight's  devoted  love  ! 
Hear  this  his  vow  :  No  woman  shall  efface 
(Stand  she  in  birth  and  beauty  ne'er  so  high) 
The  image  thou  hast  stamp'd  upon  my  soul ! 

IOLANTHE  (after  a  pause). 
Thy  words  are  laden  with  a  wondrous  power. 
Say,  from  what  master  didst  thou  learn  the  art 
To  charm,  by  words,  which  yet  are  mysteries  ? 
Meseem'd  as  though  I  trod  some  path  alone, 
Which  I  had  never  trod  before  ;  and  yet 
All  seems  to  me— all,  all  that  thou  hast  said— 
So  godlike,  so  enchanting  !     Oh,  speak  on — 
Yet  no,  speak  not !     Rather  let  me  in  thought 
Linger  along  the  words  which  thou  hast  spoken, 
That  mingled  pain  and  rapture  in  my  soul ! 

(Enter  GEOFFREY  hurriedly?) 


KING  REN&S  DAUGHTER.  69 

GEOFFREY. 

I  see  men  at  a  distance  coming  hither  ! 
Do  not  forget  that  we  are  here  alone. 

TRISTAN  (to  IOLANTHE). 
Now,  noble  maiden,  must  I  take  my  leave. 

IOLANTHE. 

Ah,  no  !  no  !    Wherefore  wilt  thou  go  ? 

TRISTAN. 

I'll  come 

Again,  and  soon— to-day  I'll  come  again. 
Wilt  thou  permit  me  with  thy  hand  to  mark 
How  high  I  am,  that,  when  we  next  shall  meet, 
Thou  may'st  distinguish  me  ? 

IOLANTHE. 

What  need  of  that  ? 

I  know  that  few  resemble  thee  in  height. 
Thy  utterance  comes  to  me  as  from  above, 
Like  all  that's  high  and  inconceivable. 
And  know  I  not  thy  tone  ?    Like  as  thou  speakest 
None  speak  beside.     No  voice,  no  melody 
I've  known  in  nature,  or  in  instrument, 
Doth  own  a  resonance  so  lovely,  sweet, 


70  •       KING  RENT'S  DAUGHTER. 

So  winning,  full,  and  gracious  as  thy  voice. 
Trust  me,  I'll  know  thee  well  amidst  them  all ! 

TRISTAN. 
Then  fare  thee  well,  until  we  meet  once  more  ! 

lOLANTHE. 

There — take  my  hand!  Farewell!  Thou'lt  come  again — 
Again,  and  soon  ? — Thou  know'st  I  wait  for  thee  ! 

TRISTAN  (kneels,  and  kisses  her  hand). 
Oh,  never  doubt  that  I  will  come  again. 
My  heart  impels  me  hither.     Though  I  go, 
Still  of  my  thoughts  the  better  half  remains  ; 
And  whatsoe'er  is  left  to  me  of  life 
Yearns  back  to  thee  with  evermore  unrest. 
Farewell ! 

(Exit  through  the  concealed  door,  following  GEOF- 
FREY, who  has  retired  during  the  last  speech?) 

lOLANTHE. 

Hark  !  there  he  goes  !    Among  the  hills, 
From  which  so  oft  the  stranger's  foot  resounds, 
Now  echoes  his  light  step.     Oh,  hush  !  hush  !  hush  ! 
I  hear  it  now  no  more. — Yes  ;  there  again  ! 
But  now, — 'tis  gone  ! — Will  he  indeed  return  ? 


A'/.VG  RENT'S  DAUGHTER.  n 

If  he,  too,  like  so  many  guests  before, 

Should  come  but  this  one  time  !     Oh  !  no — no— no  ! 

Did  he  not  promise  me,  and  pledge  his  vow, 

He  would  come  back  to-day  ?    The  dews  are  falling  ; 

Already  eve  draws  on. — Ah,  no  !  to-day 

He  cannot  come. — Perhaps  to-morrow,  then  ? 

But  now  it  is  so  lonely  here. 


FIFTH    SCENE. 

IOLANTHE,   MARTHA,   afterwards  KING  RENE  and 
EBN  JAHIA,  then  ALMERIK. 

MARTHA   (enters  from  behind  the  house,  and  ad- 
vances rapidly  on  seeing  IOLANTHE). 

Dear  child ! 
Great  Heav'n  !     How  came  you  thus  awake,  and  here  ? 

IOLANTHE. 
Oh,  Martha,  come  to  me  !    Where  have  you  been  ? 

MARTHA. 

Afield,  among  the  servants.     But  explain  : 
Who — who  awoke  you  ? 


72  KING  REN&S  DAUGHTER. 

lOLANTHE. 

Of  myself  I  woke. 

MARTHA. 
How  !     Of  yourself  ? 

lOLANTHE. 

No  otherwise  know  I. 

But  list — as  yet  you  know  not : — here  have  been 
Strange  guests  ! 

MARTHA. 
You  mock  me  !    Who  were  they  ? 

lOLANTHE. 

Two  strangers  whom  I  did  not  know  at  all, 
And  who,  besides,  were  never  here  before. 
It  was  such  pity  you  had  gone  away  ! 

MARTHA. 
You  dream,  my  child.     Two  strangers?     Whence, 

and  how  ? 
It  cannot  be  ! 

lOLANTHE. 

Whence  did  the  strangers  come  ? 
I  ask'd  not  that ;  for  you  have  charged  me  oft, 
That  I  with  questionings  should  not  torment 
Our  visitors. 


KING   RENfrS  DAUGHTER.  7, 

MARTHA. 
Who  were  they,  then,  my  child  ? 

lOLANTHE. 

Indeed,  I  do  not  know. 

MARTHA. 

Were  you  alone,  then  ? 

IOLANTHE. 
I  call'd  on  you,  but  yet  you  heard  me  not. 

MARTHA  (aside). 
Heavens !  was  it  possible  ?— (Aloud.)  Say  on,  my  child ! 

IOLANTHE. 

Ah,  Martha,  none  e'er  came  to  us  before, 
Like  these  two  strangers— like,  at  least,  to  one. 
It  cannot  surely  be,  but  that  he  comes 
From  some  fair  land  of  marvel,  different  quite 
From  this  our  land.     For  potent  was  his  speech, 
Yet  gentle  and  affectionate  as  thine. 

(KING  REN£  and  EBN  JAHIA  enter  ^lnobserved 
through  the  concealed  door,  and  remain  listen- 
ing in  the  background.) 

He  gave  me  greeting  with  a  song.     Oh,  Martha  ! 
A  song  that  teem'd  with  meanings  marvellous  ; 
7 


74  A*/.VG  REX&S  DAUGHTER. 

It  charm'd  the  tears  into  mine  eyes,  although 
I  scarcely  fathom'd  half  of  what  it  meant. 

MARTHA. 

Be  calm,  my  love  ! — (Aside.)  What  am  I  doom'd  to  hear  ? 
(Aloud.)  But  tell  me,  pray,  of  what  he  spoke  with  thee. 

lOLANTHE. 

Of  much — oh,  much  !   to  me  both  new  and  strange  ; 
Knowledge  had  he  of  many,  many  things 
Whereof  before  I  never  heard.     He  said — 
Yet  I,  alack  !  could  comprehend  him  not — 
He  said,  we  could  distinguish  many  things 
With — with  the  help  of  sight. 

MARTHA  (aside). 

Oh,  God ! 

lOLANTHE. 

Dost  thou 
Know  what  he  meant  by  this  ? 

MARTHA  (observes  the  KING  and  EBN  JAHIA). 

Great  Heaven  !  the  King  ! 

RENE  (advances). 
My  child  ! 


KING  RENT'S  DAUGHTER.  jc 

IOLANTHE  (falling  on  his  necfy. 
My  own  beloved  father,  art  thou  here  ? 

RENE. 
Thy  tutor,  Ebn  Jahia,  comes  with  me. 

IOLANTHE. 

He  too  !     Where  is  he  ?     Let  me  give  you  welcome  ! 
(EBN  JAHIA  gives  her  his  hand.) 

RENE  (takes  MARTHA  aside,  while  EBN  JAHIA  con- 
verses with  IOLANTHE). 
What  has  occurred  ? 

MARTHA. 

O  God  !  I  do  not  know. 
In  full  reliance  that  she  could  not  wake 
Till  she  was  waken'd  up,  we  left  the  house 
While  she  lay  sleeping.     But  the  while — so  she 
Maintains,  although  'tis  scarcely  possible — 
Some  stranger  has  been  here,  and  talk'd  with  her. 

RENE. 

Imprudent  haste  !  When  I  went  after  him, 
I  did  not  mark  to  close  the  door  behind  me. 
Well,  Martha,  and  this  stranger  ? 


76  KING  KENT'S  DAUGHTER. 

MARTHA. 

He  has  spoken, 

So  far  as  I  can  gather  from  the  maze, 
Wherein  she  still  doth  wander,  of  her  blindness. 

RENE. 

How  !    Of  her  blindness  !    Well,  'tis  Heaven's  decree 
That  she  beforehand  should  be  made  aware  ! 
So  be  it ! — (Beckons  to  EBN  JAHIA.)     Ebn  Jahia,  hast 
thou  heard  ? 

EBN  JAHIA. 

This  accident  was  fortunate  indeed. 
A  stranger  woke  her.     Here  upon  the  table 
I  found  the  amulet.    Yet  what  she  heard 
Of  her  condition  is  but  dark  to  her. 
I  must  require  that  she  be  fully  told, 
As  you  agreed. 

RENE. 

My  resolution's  taken. 

(Approaches  IOLANTHE.) 
Lend  me  thine  ear  attentively,  my  child  ! 
No  longer  may't  be  hidden,  that  thy  life 
Hath  reach'd  a  climax  that  will  task  thy  firmness. 
Wilt  thou  with  patience  hear  me  ? — patiently, 


KING  RENE'S  DAUGHTER.  77 

If  unexpected  sorrow  wound  thy  soul, 
Learn  to  endure  this  sorrow  ? 

lOLANTHE. 

Father,  say  on  ! 

It  will  be  less  severe,  if  from  thy  lips 
It  come  to  me. 

RENE. 

Then  listen,  lolanthe. 
I  know  not  what  the  stranger  said  to  thee  ; 
Yet  I  surmise  he  told  thee — what  with  care 
We  have  till  now  conceal'd — that  to  thy  soul 
There  lacks  one  potent  instrument,  to  grasp 
The  world  that  round  thee  lies  ;  and  this  is  true  ! 
For  what  thou  lackest  is  the  gift  of  sight. 

lOLANTHE. 

Ev'n  so  ;  and  yet  I  understood  him  not. 

REN£. 

Then  learn  from  me  :  there  is  a  certain  power 
Which  men  do  call  the  light.     Like  wind  and  storm, 
It  doth  descend  unto  us  from  above, 
And,  like  to  these,  with  swiftness  uncontroll'cl, 

The  objects,  which  it  touches,  gain  a  new 
7* 


78  KING  RENT'S  DAUGHTER. 

Significance,  and  a  peculiar  stamp, 

And  oftentimes  with  warmth  'tis  closely  blent. 

'Tis  through  the  eye  it  finds  its  way  to  us, 

And  by  the  power  of  seeing  it  we  gain 

A  true  perception  of  the  universe, 

As  it  went  forth  from  the  Creator's  hand, 

And  apprehend  His  wisdom  and  His  goodness. 

What  thou  by  slow  degrees  and  toilsome  pain 

Hast,  until  now,  been  forced  to  guess,  the  eye 

Gives  us  to  see  and  recognize  with  ease, 

By  its  consistence  and  peculiar  form. 

( With  emotion^  Early  thine  eye  the  pow'r  of  vision  lost, 

And  this  fair  frame  of  earth,  this  radiant  realm, 

To  thee,  my  darling  child,  was  early  closed  ; 

And  all  our  care  could  scantily  supply 

The  loss,  which  thou  in  infancy  sustain'd  : 

All  we  could  do  was  from  thee  still  to  ward 

The  shock  and  burden  of  intrusive  cares, 

And  hide  from  thee  their  bitter  origin. 

lOLANTHE. 

Ah,  father  !     These  are  wondrous  words — to  me 

Incomprehensible.     The  universe, 

How  it  came  forth  from  the  Creator's  hand, 


KING  RENT'S  DAUGHTER.  79 

Knew  I  not  that  ?    Was  this  shut  up  from  me  ? 

How  canst  thou  say  so  ?     My  Creator,  have  I 

Not  recognized  him  in  the  universe  ? 

Hath  not  the  roaring  bhst,  the  zephyr's  breath — 

Hath  not  the  warmth,  that  circles  everywhere, 

The  earth's  so  fit  arrangement,  and  its  power 

To  nurture  plants  with  blossom  and  with  fruits — 

Hath  not  stone,  metal,  and  the  flowing  streams, 

The  choir  of  sweet  birds'  voices,  shown  me  well 

The  great  Creator  in  the  universe  ? 

And  have  I  not  by  thee,  ev'n  as  by  all 

That's  dear  to  me,  been  taught  to  comprehend 

What  our  Creator  with  the  world  design'd  ? 

Even  I  am  an  expression  of  his  will. 

Where'er  I  turn — in  nature,  in  the  speech 

Of  others,  in  the  depths  of  mine  own  being, 

In  thoughts  that  spring  from  thoughts,  an  endless  chain, 

In  all,  to  me  the  self-same  voice  resounds, 

And  of  His  glory  loudly  testifies. 

RENE  (aside  to  EBN  JAHIA). 

Ah,  Ebn  Jahia,  this  so  lovely  faith, 
We  have  destroy'd  it ! 


8o  KING  RENE'S  DAUGHTER. 

lOLANTHE. 

Explain  one  thing  to  me  : 

I  with  my  eyes,  it  seems,  should  grasp  the  world. 
Yon  stranger,  too,  who  lately  was  with  me, 
And  whose  strange  words  are  stamp'd  so  deeply  here, 
He  spoke  of  sight.    What  is  it,  then,  to  see  ? 
Can  I,  O  father,  see  his  voice,  which  touch'd 
My  soul  with  joy  and  sadness  ?    Can  I  see 
With  these  my  eyes  the  nightingale's  thick  note, 
Whereon  I've  mused  so  oft,  and  vainly  striven 
To  follow  it  in  thought,  away,  away  ? — 
Or  is  her  song  a  flower,  whose  fragrant  breath 
I  know,  but  uot  its  root,  and  stem,  and  leaves  ? 

RENE. 

Oh,  my  dear  child,  each  of  thy  questions  fills 
My  soul  with  agony.     Trust,  love,  to  me, 
And  leave  it  to  a  happier  time,  to  show 
What  now  to  thee  must  be  inexplicable. 
One  thing,  however,  know  :  I  have  a  hope — 
The  hope,  which  hath  sustain'd  me  until  now — 
That  yet  thy  sight  may  be  restored  to  thee  : 
That  thy  dear  eyes  may  open  once  again 
To  the  glad  sunbeams  ;  and  oh,  grant  it,  Heav'n  ! 


KING  REN&S  DAUGHTER.  8 1 

Thy  noble  friend  and  tutor,  Ebn  Jahia, 

With  his  rare  leech-craft  hath  been  long  preparing 

The  favorable  hour  to  test  our  hopes. 

Now  is  it  come,  my  own,  my  darling  child  ! 

Confide  in  him.     Go  with  him  to  the  house. 

Martha  shall  wait  upon  thee. — At  the  first 

ThouPt  sink  into  a  slumber  ; — and  from  that — 

If  so  it  be  Heaven's  gracious  will — aroused 

(Is  stifled  with  emotion.) 

lOLANTHE. 

What  ails  thee,  father  ?    Wherefore  shakes  thy  hand  ? 

My  own  dear  father,  joy'st  thou  not,  that  now 

The  hour  has  come  thou'st  panted  for  so  long  ? 

Thou  fearest  it  will  prove  unfortunate. 

Yet,  even  then,  shall  I  not  be,  as  ever, 

Thy  child,  thy  own  dear  child — thy  child,  who  joys 

To  be  so  dear — joys  in  her  happy  lot ! — 

Let  me  go  in,  then 

RENK. 

Oh,  my  child  !  my  child  ! 

lOLANTHE. 

Nay,  do  not  fear  !     For  what  my  sage  kind  master 
Has  ponder'd  well,  will  prosper,  I  am  sure. 


82  KINO  REN&S  DAUGHTER. 

It  feels  to  me  as  though  ev'n  now  I  knew 

The  singular  power  which  thou  hast  call'd  the  light, 

And  it  hath  found  its  way  to  me  already. 

Ah,  while  that  wondrous  stranger  was  beside  me, 

A  feeling  quiver'd  through  me,  which  I  ne'er 

Had  known  before  ;  and  every  word  he  spoke 

Resounded  like  an  echo  in  my  soul, 

With  new  and  unimagined  melodies. 

— Didst  thou  not  say,  the  power  of  light  is  swift, 

And  gives  significance  to  what  it  touches  ? 

That  it  is  also  closely  blent  with  warmth — 

With  the  heart's  warmth  ?    Oh  !  I  know  it  is. 

• — *• 

If  what  thou  call'st  the  light  consist  in  this, 
Then  a  forewarning  tells  me  it  will  be 
Reveal'd  to  me  to-day.    Yet  on  one  point 
Thou  dost  mistake.     'Tis  not  the  eye  that  sees  ; 
Here,  close  beside  the  heart,  our  vision  lies  ; 
Here  is  it  seated  in  remembrance  sweet, 
A  reflex  of  the  light  that  pierced  my  soul, 
The  light  I  go  with  bounding  hope  to  meet ! 

(Exit  into  the  house  with  MARTHA.) 

RENE  (to  EBN  JAHIA,  who  is  about  to  follow). 
Stay,  Ebn  Jahia  !     Canst  understand  all  this  ? 


KING  RENEWS  DAUGHTER.  83 

Where  is  the  stranger,  who  intruded  thus 
Upon  her  bosom's  peace  ?     How  to  myself 
Can  I  explain  these  passion-laden  words  ? 
What  thinkest  thou  ? 

EBN  JAHIA. 

Not  easily  explain'd 
Is  the  full  climax  of  a  woman's  mood, 
And  this,  I  own,  goes  counter  to  my  plans. 

RENfi. 

Explain  thyself! 

EBN  JAHIA. 

Suppose  her  thoughts  are  bent 
To  rest  upon  this  stranger — then,  'twould  seem 
That  he  controls  her,  and  I  strongly  doubt 
A  happy  issue  to  my  art.     And  yet 
In  this  conjuncture  two  desires  may  meet, 
Which,  blent  in  intimate  communion,  may 
Strive  to  one  end  with  like  intensity. 
In  this  hope  I  may  rest — but  only  feebly. 

(Exit  into  the  house.) 

i 

RENK. 

Who  could  it  be,  was  here  ?     Unless  Bertram! 


84  KING  REN&S  DAUGHTER. 

Should  chance  to  know 

(Enter  ALMERIK  through  the  concealed  door.} 
My  Almerik  !     Thou  here  ? 

ALMERIK. 
I  bring  a  letter  for  my  liege. 

RENE. 

From  Tristan  ? 

(Breaks  open  the  seal.) 

It  is  from  him.     What  do  I  see  ?    Come  hither  ! 
He  breaks  with  me.     He  wishes  to  undo 
Our  solemn  contract ! 

ALMERIK. 

How  !     Undo  the  contract  ? 

RENE  (reading). 

Amazement !     He  admits  him  in  the  wrong, 
And  leaves  me  to  dictate  the  amends  ; 
Yet — he  repudiates  my  daughter's  hand. 

ALMERIK. 
Matchless  audacity ! 

•  RENE. 

Ah,  Almerik, 
This  is  the  fate  that  dogs  me  evermore. 


KING  RENT'S  DAUGHTER.  85 

An  evil  portent  this,  I  fear  me  much, 
For  what  this  hour  may  bring.     These  nuptials, 
Whereon  I  had  the  fairest  visions  rear'd, 
Unconsciously  were  wedded  with  the  hope 
That  lolanthe  should  regain  her  sight. 
That  hope  is  gone — a  little  time  may  see 
The  other  crush'd.     Yet  no  !   I  will  not  stoop 
To  foolish,  fond  lamentings  !     Let  that  come, 
Which  Heaven  in  wisdom  hath  ordain'd  for  us  ! 
Who  brought  the  letter  ? 

ALMERIK. 

One  of  Geoffrey's  people, 
Who  said,  that  Tristan  now  was  lodged  with  him. 

RENE. 
With  Geoffrey  ?    Well,  there  still,  perchance,  is  hope. 

Perchance  he  may But  yet What  noise  is  that  ? 

The  clash  of  arms  resounding  from  the  pass  ! 

ALMERIK.  (approaches  the  door), 
They  force  an  entrance 

RENfc. 

Force  ?     Injurious  knaves  ! 


86  KING  REN&S  DAUGHTER. 

ALMERIK. 
A  handful  of  our  people 

RENE. 

Out  with  your  sword  ! 
They  shall  not  flout  King  Rend  unchastised. 


SIXTH    SCENE. 

KING  RENE.  ALMERIK.  TRISTAN  in  complete  armor, 
-with  his  train.  Afterwards  GEOFFREY,  with  his 
train. 

(During  the  progress  of  this  scene,  the  evening  red 
spreads  over  the  valley  and  the  distant  hills,  and 
remains  so  till  the  close  of  the  piece) 

TRISTAN. 

Give  back  !     The  force,  that  sought  to  keep  the  pass, 
Has  yielded  to  our  arms.     Do  you  surrender  ? 

RENE. 
How  now  !    What  man  art  thou,  whose  ruffian  hands 


KING  RENEWS  DAUGHTER.  87 

With  shock  of  arms  doth  desecrate  this  ground  ? 
Stand,  or  my  wrath  shall  strike  thee  to  the  dust  ! 

TRISTAN. 

Husband  thy  words,  old  man.     I  have  no  fears. 
I  do  believe,  this  place  is  in  the  thrall 
Of  some  unholy  and  malignant  power, 
Which  keeps  thee  trembling,  but  gives  nerve  to  me. 
If  that  thou  be'st  a  sorcerer,  and  dost  hope 
For  aid  from  magic  spells,  despair  thy  charm. 
For  know,  the  pope  did  consecrate  this  sword  ; 
This  scarf  was  woven,  too,  by  holy  hands 
Within  the  Mary  Convent  at  Avignon, 
And,  'neath  this  mail  of  proof,  abides  the  will 
To  quell  thee,  as  Saint  George  the  dragon  quell'd. 


Deluded  man  !  what  motive  brings  thee  here  ? 

TRISTAN. 
Reply  to  me  !    Art  thou  this  valley's  lord  ? 

REN/:. 

Truly  I  am  this  valley's  lord,  I  own  ; 
Nor  ends  my  title  there.     But  who  art  thou  ? 


88  KING  RENT'S  DAUGHTER. 

(Enter  GEOFFREY  -with  his  train.) 

GEOFFREY. 
What  do  I  see  ?     King  Rend  \— (kneels)— noble  king ! 

TRISTAN. 
What's  here  ?    King  Rend  ! 

RENE. 

Geoffrey,  thou  in  league 
With  one  that  is  thy  monarch's  foe  ? 

GEOFFREY. 

Your  pardon  ! 
He  posted  on  before.     I  came  too  late. 

RENK  (to  TRISTAN). 
Yet  tell  me,  who  art  thou  ? 

TRISTAN. 

My  name  is  Tristan 
Of  Vaudemont ;  a  name  you  well  do  know. 

REN£. 
How  ?  Tristan  !    (To  GEOFFREY.)    Is  this  true  ? 

GEOFFREY. 

'Tis  as  he  says. 


KING  RENT'S  DAUGHTER. 

RENE;  (musing). 

And  so  'twas  you,  belike,  as  I  conclude, 
Were  here  to-day  already  ? 

TRISTAN. 

Yes,  my  liege  ; 

Chance,  not  presumption,  led  me  to  this  place. 
I  did  not  dream  that  you  were  ruler  here. 

RENE. 

But  say,  what  motive  brings  you  back  again  ? 

TRISTAN. 
You  know  it. 

REN£. 
Nay,  I  know  it  not.     Explain. 

TRISTAN. 

Can  this  be  so  ? — Within  this  blooming  vale, 
Where  all  is  marvellous,  there  lives  conceal'd, 
And  its  most  foremost  wonder,  a  fair  girl, 
Whose  praise  not  all  Provence's  troubadours 
Could  chant  in  measures  equal  to  her  worth. 

RENK. 

And  this  fair  girl,  you  say Continue,  sir  ! 

8* 


90  KING  KENT'S  DAUGHTER 

TRISTAN. 

Upon  my  soul  such  impress  deep  hath  wrought, 
That  I  am  bound  her  slave  for  evermore. 

RENE. 

And  know  you  who  she  is  ? 

TRISTAN. 

No.     Yet  there's  proof 
Upon  her  countenance,  and  in  her  words, 
Of  high  degree,  and  inborn  nobleness. 

RENE. 

And  have  you  noted  not,  that  Nature,  who 
In  all  things  else  hath  been  so  bountiful, 
Left  her  one  flaw  ? 

TRISTAN. 

Ah,  yes,  alas  !  she's  blind  ! 
Yet  there  doth  flow  within  her  soul  a  light 
That  makes  all  luminous  which  else  were  dark  ! 

RENE. 
And  though  you  are  aware  that  she  is  blind 


KING  REN&S  DAUGHTER.  91 

TRISTAN. 

Yet,  at  her  feet  with  rapture  would  I  lay 
The  golden  circle  of  my  earldom  down. 

RENE;. 

Now,  by  the  holy  image  in  Clairvaux, 
You  are  the  rarest  marvel  of  our  vale  ! 
You  press  in  here  with  weapons  in  your  hand, 
To  bear  off  that  which  hath  for  years  been  yours, 
Yet  which  you  now  insultingly  contemn. 

TRISTAN. 
How  so,  my  liege  ? 

REN£. 

Know,  then,  that  this  fair  girl, 
Who  took  your  heart  a  prisoner,  is  my  daughter. 

TRISTAN. 
Your  daughter,  she  ? 


My  daughter,  my  young  count 
The  same  whom  you,  as  this  your  letter  bears, 
Can  in  no  wise  consent  to  take  for  bride  ; 
The  same  who  raised  in  you  dislike  so  strong, 


92  KING  RENT'S  DAUGHTER. 

That,  but  to  'scape  from  her,  you  were  content 
To  quit  your  claims  forever  to  Lorraine  ! 
^he  same,  moreover,  whom  you  so  have  charm'd, 
.nat  I  might  almost  doubt,  if  the  poor  girl 
So  lightly  would  abandon  you. 

TRISTAN. 

My  liege, 
Thou  wilt  not  mock  me  with  so  wild  a  joy  ! 

RENE. 
'Tis  e'en  as  I  have  said. 

TRISTAN. 

But  why  was  she 

RENE. 

Shut  up  within  this  vale  ?    Of  that  anon. 
You  little  deem,  my  lord,  that  you  are  come 
At  a  momentous  crisis.     lolanthe, 
My  darling  child,  perchance,  e'en  while  we  talk, 
Sinks  into  darkest  night  for  evermore, 
Or  wakes  to-  taste  the  glorious  light  of  day. 

TRISTAN. 
What  sayest  thou,  my  liege  ? 


KING  RENE'S  DAUGHTER. 


93 


This  very  hour 

Has  the  physician,  Ebn  Jahia,  chosen 
To  see,  if  possibly  -    (Approaches  the  house?) 

But  hush  !  methinks 

There  is  a  stir  within.     Keep  silence,  all  ! 
She  speaks  !     Oh,  Tristan,  hear  !     lolanthe  speaks  ! 
Ah,  are  these  sounds  of  pleasure,  or  of  wail, 
That  murmur  o'er  my  darling  angel's  lips  ? 
—  But  some  one  comes. 


SEVENTH    SCENE. 

To  the  others  enter  BERTRAND,  afterwards  MARTHA, 
IOLANTHE,  and  EBN  JAHIA. 


(to  BERTRAND,  who  enters  from  the  house?) 

Quick,  Bertrand  !  quick,  and  tell  me, 
How  goes  on  all  within  ? 

BERTRAND. 

Alas  !  I  know  not. 


94  KIN-G  REN&S  DAUGHTER. 

She  has  awaked,  and  it  is  nearly  over  ; 
But  I  ran  forth  in  terror. 

(Enter  MARTHA  hastily^) 

MARTHA. 

She  can  see  ! 

RENE. 
How,  Martha — see  ? 

TRISTAN. 

Oh,  grant  it,  Heaven  ! 


She's  coming  forth. 


MARTHA. 

Hush!  hush! 


(Enter  EBN  JAHIA,  leading  IOLANTHE  by  the  hand. 
He  beckons  to  the  others  to  retire?) 

IOLANTHE. 

Where  art  thou  leading  me  ? 
O  God  !  where  am  I  ?    Support  me — oh,  support  me  ! 

EBN  JAHIA. 
Calm  thee,  my  child  ! 


KING  RENT'S  DAUGHTER.  gr 

lOLANTHE. 

Support  me — oh,  stand  still ! 
I  ne'er  was  here  before — what  shall  I  do 
In  this  strange  place  ?   Oh,  what  is  that  ?    Support  me  ! 
It  comes  so  close  on  me,  it  gives  me  pain. 

EBN  JAHIA. 

lolanthe,  calm  thee  !     Look  upon  the  earth  ! 
That  still  hath  been  to  thee  thy  truest  friend, 
And  now,  too,  greets  thee  with  a  cordial  smile. 
—This  is  the  garden  thou  hast  ever  tended. 

lOLANTHE. 

My  garden — mine  ?  Alas  !  I  know  it  not. 
The  plants  are  terrible  to  see — take  care  ! 
They're  falling  on  us  ! 

EBN  JAHIA. 

Cease  your  fears,  my  child. 

These  stately  trees  are  the  date-palms,  whose  leaves 
And  fruit  to  thee  have  been  long  known. 

lOLANTHE. 

Ah,  no ! 


g6  KING  RENT'S  DAUGHTER. 

Indeed,  I  know  them  not ! 

(Raises  her  eyes  towards  the  sky.) 

This  radiance,  too, 

That  everywhere  surrounds  me— yon  great  vault, 
That  arches  there  above  us — oh,  how  high  !— 
What  is  it  ?     Is  it  God  ?     Is  it  His  spirit, 
Which,  as  you  said,  pervades  the  universe  ? 

EBN  JAHIA. 

Yon  radiance  is  the  radiance  of  the  light. 

God  is  in  it,  like  as  He  is  in  all. 

Yon  blue  profound,  that  fills  yon  airy  vault, 

It  is-the  heaven,  where,  as  we  do  believe, 

God  hath  set  up  his  glorious  dwelling-place. 

Kneel  down,  my  child  !  and  raise  your  hands  on  high, 

To  heaven's  o'erarching  vault — to  God— and  pray  ! 

lOLANTHE. 

Ah,  teach  me,  then,  to  pray  to  Him  as  I  ought. 
No  one  hath  ever  told  me  how  I  should 
Pray  to  this  Deity  who  rules  the  world  ! 

\ 

EBN  JAHIA. 
Then  kneel  thee  down,  my  darling  child,  and  say, 


KING  RENE'S  DAUGHTER.  97 

"  Mysterious  Being,  who  to  me  hast  spoken 
When  darkness  veil'd  mine  eyes,  teach  me  to  seek  Thee 
In  Thy  light's  beams,  that  do  'Jlume  this  world  ; 
Still,  in  the  world,  teach  me  to  cling  to  Thee  !  " 

IOLANTHE  (kneels). 

Mysterious  Being,  who  to  me  hast  spoken 

When  darkness  veil'd  mine  eyes,  teach  me  to  seek  Thee 

In  Thy  light's  beams,  that  do  illume  this  world  ; 

Still,  in  the  world,  teach  me  to  cling  to  Thee  ! 

— Yes,  He  hath  heard  me.     I  can  feel  He  hath, 

And  on  me  pours  the  comfort  of  His  peace. 

He  is  the  only  one  that  speaks  to  me, 

Invisible  and  kindly,  as  before. 

EBN  JAHIA. 
Arise  !  arise,  my  child,  and  look  around. 

IOLANTHE. 
Say,  what  are  these,  that  bear  such  noble  forms  ? 

EBN  JAHIA. 

Thou  know'st  them  all. 
9 


C)8  KING  REN&S  DAUOHTEli. 

lOLANTHE. 

Ah,  no  ;  I  can  know  nothing. 

RENE  (approaching  IOLANTHE). 
Look  on  me,  lolanthe — me,  thy  father  ! 

IOLANTHE  (embracing  him}. 
My  father  !     Oh,  my  God  !     Thou  art  my  father  ! 
I  know  thee  now — thy  voice,  thy  clasping  hand. 
Stay  here  !     Be  my  protector,  be  my  guide  ! 
I  am  so  strange  here  in  this  world  of  light. 
They've  taken  all  that  I  possess'd  away — 
All  that  in  old  time  was  thy  daughter's  joy. 

RENE. 
I  have  cull'd  out  a  guide  for  thee,  my  child. 

IOLANTHE. 
Whom  mean'st  thou  ? 

RENE  (pointing  to  TRISTAN). 

See,  he  stands  expecting  thee. 

IOLANTHE. 
The  stranger  yonder  ?    Is  he  one  of  those 


KING  RENfrS  DAUGHTER.  99 

Bright  cherubim  thou  once  didst  tell  me  of  ? 
Is  he  the  angel  of  the  light  come  down  ? 

RENE. 
Thou  knowest  him — hast  spoken  with  him.     Think  ! 

lOLANTHE. 

With  him  ?  with  him  ? 

(Holds  her  hands  before  her  eyes.) 

Father,  I  understand. 
In  yonder  glorious  form  must  surely  dwell 
The  voice  that  late  I  heard— gentle,  yet  strong ; 
The  one  sole  voice  that  lives  in  Nature's  round. 

(To  TRISTAN,  who  advances  towards  her.) 
Oh,  but  one  word  of  what  thou  said'st  before  ! 

TRISTAN. 
Oh,  sweet  and  gracious  lady  ! 

lOLANTHE. 

List !  oh,  list ! 

With  these  dear  words  the  light's  benignant  rays 
Found  out  a  way  to  me  ;  and  these  sweet  words 
With  my  heart's  warmth  are  intimately  blent. 


I00  KING   RENT'S  DAUGHTER. 

TRISTAN  (embraces  her). 
lolanthe  !     Dearest ! 

RENE.  • 

Blessings  on  you  both 
From  God,  whose  wondrous  works  we  all  revere  ! 


(Curtain  drops.) 


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Beethoven's    Letters,    1790-1826.      From 

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With  a  portrait  and  facsimile.  2  vols.,  12nio.  Cloth,  gilt 
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In  this  collection  of  hie  private  correspondence  we  have  an  idle- 
rior  view  of  the  great  composer — showing  us  what  he  was,  what  he 
did,  what  he  Buttered,  and  what  was  the  point  of  view  from  which 
lie  surveyed  art  and  life.  Beethoven,  in  music,  is  quite  as  great  a 
name  as  Milton's  in  poetry  ;  and  among  the  thousands  who  have 
been  charmed,  thrilled  and  exalted  by  his  wonderful  melodies,  and 
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Transcript. 

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listening  to  his  grand  compositions — Boston  Saturday  Evening  Gazette. 


Mendelssohn's    Letters    from    Italy    and 

Switzerland.  Translated  from  the  German  by  LADY  WAL- 
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"  An  acknowledged  masterpiece,  read  and  admired  in  every  country 
in  Christendom. "" — New  York  Cjmmercw.1  Advertiser. 

Human    Follies.     By  JULES  DE  NORIAC. 

Translated  from  the  16th  Paris  edition  by  GEORGE  MAULOW.  ; 
1  vol.,  IGmo.     Price,  50  cents. 

"One  of  the  most  readable  things  of  the  day, — is  a  good  illustration 
of  the  French  way  of  teaching  common  sense.  Sixteenth  Paris  edition,! 
—this  is  a  sufficient  comment  on  the  ability  of  the  Author."— 

Post. 

The    Romance   of  a  Poor   Young  Man. 

From  the  French  of  Octave  Feuillet.     By  HENRY  J.  MAC-) 
DONALD.     1  vol.,  I6mo.    Price,  $1.25. 

The  Romance  of  the  Mummy.     From  the 

French   of  Theophile   Gautier.      By  Mrs.  ANNE  T.  WoooJ 
1  vol.,  16mo.     Price,  50  cents. 


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